


Marvel's the Fright

by LuisVera



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Original Work
Genre: F/M, Family, Hispanic Character, Historical References, Journalism, Magical Realism, Pastiche, Redemption, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slice of Life, Stream of Consciousness, Superheroes, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-01-29 20:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuisVera/pseuds/LuisVera
Summary: Sean Sullivan is a man who's done lots of wrong in his life, after the death of his brother, he decides to amend by becoming a superhero, but soon he finds the road to redemption is much more complex and painful of what he could imagined.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Pilot

"Can a man hug fire to his breast without setting his clothes alight? Can a man walk on red-hot coals without burning his feet? So it is the man who consorts with his neighbor's wife: no one who touches her will go unpunished" Proverbs 6: 27-29

New York City  
2 Years before

Their affair, as well as his brother's life, had to come to an end. But none of that he knew when he got out of the shower, Sean Sebastian Sullivan-Suárez, a tall and fair skinned folk with a wide jaw and broad shoulders, his unruly hairs slightly resembled those of the Christ that hung over his bed; he exited the bathroom, dropped the towel in the bed and began to get dressed. 

He put on a white shirt and black waistcoat, along black trousers and the finest Italian shoes in his possession, he had shaved before his shower, and taking a look in the mirror, he fixed his tie as he heard the door open and a feminine fragrance invaded his nose, he liked it.

-I thought you'd never come- he smiled looking at the tan skinned woman in an elegant and jaw dropping black dress, this was Nina; she smirked seductively and closed in.

-Do you like the dress? - She looked up at him and messed with his hair –It goes along with your hair- 

Without mediating a further word, their lips locked in a furious hunger, they kissed passionately for as long as their lungs could afford, her arms thrown around his neck, when they parted craving for oxygen, they soon resumed their make out, once they finally finished, he stood there in silence, staring at her almost in ecstasy.  
-You are so beautiful- he said, the words slipping from his mouth almost unconsciously. 

She smiled at him and then departed, walking her way to the door and turning back to give him a last flirtatious look.  
-Catch you in a minute- he said, as he finished fixing his watch.

-Ok, love you- she blew him a kiss and opened the door, exiting. 

As she shut the door, Sean looked at the horizon for no apparent reason, and sighed, finally he finished getting ready, walked to the door and exited, stepping just outside the house was his brother, Austin, standing right next to Nina.

-Ready to go? - He said to his brother, who turned his back to look at him.

-Yeah, let's get going- His brother turned to Nina with a grin on his face –After you, Miss Sullivan-

-No, after you, Mister Sullivan- she flirted back, they looked at each other smiling briefly and then kissed, the lipstick Nina was using had a particular strawberry taste, she knew Austin loved it (Incidentally, she had first knew Sean loved it, but the convenience, however, was undeniable).The sight of this send shivers down Sean's spine, not guilt, not yet, but a sudden cold invaded him, as if his guardian angel was reprehending him in a silent voice. They began to walk to the car, Nina, walking ever so graciously in her high heels, began to stumble –Austin, honey- she said –I'm feeling a bit dizzy, I should be fine for the party, but can I please lay in the back seat?-

-For sure- Austin said, opening the door for her, she entered and laid down, Sean shut the door – I'll drive—Austin said and Sean handed him the keys, they entered. Austin made the sign of the cross and began to drive.

As they were midway in the road, Austin cleared his throat and spoke –So, I found this apartment- Nina and Sean were frozen in the spot, both their eyes widened, almost at sync. Austin continued –It's just a street away from work and the rent is like cheap- Sean felt an odd sensation across his body, a heat of shame, the knowledge that he would be deprived of the constant company of Nina, which he was quite fond of, and hell, even of the company of his brother, he guessed. But the reaction was mostly due to the certainty his lover knew about this whole thing and had hidden it from him. He knew, of course, as an extramarital lover, that he had no right whatsoever to claim, but it did not stop him from feeling it as a sort of trespass. Nina herself was reddened, as she had indeed withheld it from Sean, and was not ready for the truth to be spoken.

Sean tried to act as normal as possible and forced himself to smile, albeit briefly –Oh man, I was enjoying you having you guys over- He gave Nina a cold look through the mirror. 

-And I was enjoying it was well bro but- Austin raised his elbows –Gotta move on, thanks for all, anyways- The car kept advancing through the street normally until some gigantic yellow lights presented themselves in the horizon, blinding Austin, who then tried to move away –Son of a—before he could finish, the source of the lights came crashing at them with furious speed, the driver of the car, John Patrick Goldberg, who at the time had more whiskey than blood in his veins, survived the incident that send the Austin, Sean, Nina and their car flying off and spinning upside down.

Sean opened his eyes, there was broken glass everywhere, the car was on fire, he turned to Nina, she was ok, she had a few cuts and her high heels were broken, otherwise, however, she was untouched. Austin, on the other hand, got a serious hit, he was bleeding and the airbag was on his face, Sean tried to reach to him, help him, but his arms would not obey him, he couldn't even speak, suddenly, everything felt…dizzy, his eyes began to close until finally he gave up. It was the last time he saw his brother alive.  
New York City  
November 23rd, 2015

The tanned woman, with her vibrant black hairs dancing along her pace, walked the street in an altered state, she appeared stressed to the extreme, as if being followed, she looked all around, anticipating a shadow coming from anywhere at all.

Behind her walked a man that was short, bald and ugly, his goatee favored him very little if at all, however, he appeared as confident as he was angry. His paced accelerated rapidly until he catched up to her, and extending his fingers he took her by the wrist.

-You're coming with me-

She waved off and slid her arm off his hands, in anger and disgust –Enrique, please, we are on the street- her Hispanic, nay, Caribbean, accent, was quite marked, it was clear she had not been in the country for long.

Enrique fixed his pants, slightly letting her see the revolver he had around his waist, then, he smiled maliciously and said –You're coming with me, bitch-

Enrique had helped him with the papers, but monetary debts turned to sexual favors, and they in turn turned to other demands, demands turned into blackmail, and blackmail, it seems, was about to turn into kidnapping. Earlier that day, Enrique had confiscated her passport, desperately she had gone to his apartment and took it by force, and now here they were.

The woman took a deep breath, her cheeks turning crimson, and sighed, trying extremely hard to contain her tears, finally she lowered her head and nodded, they began to walk to his apartment down the street.

Passing by the scene, in a black leather jacket, white shirt and black jeans, was none other than Sean Sebastian Sullivan-Suárez, who, after getting home from his first day at work, had decided to go for a pretzel, he was in the midst of the enjoyment of such fried exquisite when the sounds of this scene irrupted in his ears, the woman's accent, not her voice, her accent, sounded ever so familiar, a compatriot of his, he reasoned.

Sean sighed deeply and began to walk behind them –Excuse me- he said, his pace quickening to catch up with them, upon hearing no response, he raised his voice again –Ex-cu-se-me- he said, a bit louder. Enrique willfully ignored him.

Their would be persecution lasted no more than a few minutes, as the building was quite near, Enrique and the woman walked up the stairs and entered the apartment building, Sean did exactly the same. With his patience running out, he spoke, now in the native language the three of them shared:  
-¡¿Tú eres sordo pendejo?!- He said in an angry tone.

Enrique turned to him –What the fuck do you want?-

-Get away from the lady- he said in an authoritative voice.

Enrique chuckled –Get lost- turning his back to return to his victim, Sean Sebastian, however, got in between them, restating –Get away from her-

Enrique smiled defiantly –Or what?-

-Or I'm gonna kick your ass- 

Enrique got out his revolver and pointed straight at Sean –Get lost- 

Sean remained unmoved, he raised his arm and put a hand on the cannon, stoically glancing at Enrique, who quickly lost his patience with this creep –Fuck you!- he said and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot made a gigantic sound, the woman shaked upon hearing it and became pale, in front of her there was not, as she expected, the sight of a dead or wounded man, but instead she saw Sean, still on his feet and seemingly calmed, with his palm still wrapped around the cannon.

Enrique began to sweat coldly as Sean withdrew his hand and opened his palm, there stood the bullet, floating, his hand entirely intact, to booth, the bullet was now facing in the opposite direction, in that suspenseful situation they remained for a few seconds—seconds that seemed to last at least half an hour, if you were to ask Enrique—Until the bullet finally dropped to the floor and Enrique was snapped back into reality.

In fear, he mumbled.  
-I'm, I'm sorry man, look I didn't mean to—before he could finish Sean threw him a jab strong enough that it broke his jaw and threw him to the floor.

-…Güevón…- Sean muttered staring down at Enrique-You alright miss? - He turned to the woman, who had a wide smile of gratitude in her face.

-Yes, mister, thank you- She replied, her brown eyes shining.

Enrique, with his broken and bleeding jaw, managed to half-say –Bitsch owes meeh- 

Sean crouched down on the floor and said –Beg your pardon?-

The woman spoke –I owe him money- Her tone was cold and distant. Sean turned his head to her –How much? - He casually asked.

-A hundred dollars- she replied.

Sean got out his wallet and, forcedly taking Enrique's hand, he put a hundred dollar bill in it, he then grabbed Enrique and helped him stand up, carrying him, he walked to the elevator –Ok buddy, let's get you upstairs- his accent now more marked than before. The woman walked away as Sean called the elevator.

-I'm Marta- The woman said, smiling at her benefactor –Who are you?-

Sean looked at her for what felt like a long time, and raising his finger to his lips, he hushed her with a smile, he then disappeared to the inside of the elevator, with the intention of dropping Enrique on his apartment and teach him a lesson or two on how not to treat a lady.  
On the morning of Sean Sebastian Sullivan-Suárez's first day at work, a body was found.

It was behind the Paper Factory Hotel, right next to the trash, the cause of dead was clear, it had three bullet holes: one in the stomag, one in the left side of his chest and one in the right side of it, another fact about this was that around each one, his skin, or what remained of it, was black as coal.

To the crime scene arrived several police patrols and, as the forensics were examining this corpse, Captain Murray Mason stepped into the scene, an Englishman who had immigrated at six but whose accent and temperament never changed by one bit, his wide and white eyebrows arched as his eyes looked all around, he crouched down and spoke, in his British and rugged tone:

-What's the affair?- 

The forensic finished collecting a sample and turned to him –Subject presents three bullet holes one in the stomag, one in the left of his chest one in the right, around these bullet holes he presents third or fourth degree burns, whether it was the bullets or the burns that ended him we are trying to figure-

-You identified him?- 

-Yes sir, his name is John Patrick Goldberg, 37 years old architect, unmarried, no children, no family to speak of-

The captain sniffled his nose and muttered something like "God rest his soul", then he stood up.

-Have we searched the area?-

-Yes sir, no bullet caskets around, no finger prints-

-Whomsoever did this was a smart bastard- He truly was, he had to be, as Mason had not seen any murder even remotely as perfect since 1984, his first murder case, it was a woman, her head had been bashed with a stone, dead end after dead end, technology came to the rescue almost three decades later, when DNA could be extracted from the stone –Where was he last seen? Was he alone? - 

The forensic shrugged –We don't know-

-Sir- another policeman on the scene spoke –Our sources said he was last seen on this very hotel, he had a couple of drinks in the bar and then stepped out, he was alone-

-Hm- the Captain chewed his lips, thinking, he looked closely at the wounds, the pattern –Perhaps some punks ambushed him-  
-He was not stolen- said the rookie.  
-Perhaps the punks ran upon realizing they just killed somebody- he looked at the rookie –It is rather common-

The forensic stood up and arching his eyebrow on his large forehead, he said –But what about the burns?-

The Captain did the same and grunted -Damn right, son- he shrugged –What about the bloody burns?- He paused to think, he had seen burns before, he had dealt with pyromaniacs, but these burns were peculiar, not only in their being precisely around bullet holes, but in the fact of their smallness, burns this bad tended to be big, messy and shapeless, not perfect little circles. Perhaps some particularly sadistic criminal took some red hot bar and marked him thus after the fact of shooting him, but this behavior did not seem likely to be carried in the street, those psychos tended, rather, to take their victims to a safe place, a hideout of some sort, as the possibilities danced around Captain Murray Mason, his daughter, Diana Day, nee Mason, called him on the phone, he looked at his coworkers and excused himself –Yes?-

-Dad- his daughter, a pretty brunette of small stature but hard temperament, spoke in an affectionate tone –Just called you to say Dorian and I already reserved our table, meet us Friday night, The Shwarma Palace, 9:30- Captain Murray Mason's grandfather, Sir Murray Mason, had spent a time working for the Crown in Pakistan and Iran, thus he had acquired a great love of Arabian food, which he had then passed so his son, Dr. Edward Mason, who in turn passed it on to his son Captain Murray Mason, his daughter Diana, while a bit fond of it, did not share the same passion as his forefathers, a fact that greatly disturbed her father.

Captain Mason raised his eyebrows as high as his muscles allowed him, and, gravely flabbergasted, said –Nine thirty for dinner? Do you want me to starve? - He would have yelled, but the environment did not allow him to do so, so he whispered in a yell like tone. 

His daughter chuckled –You can grab a snack if you wish, just be there-

Captain Murray Mason smiled –I will- he said his goodbyes and hanged.

Humboldt Corporation's Offices, New York  
November 23, 2015

The office buildings of the Humboldt Corporation stood high as a monument to progress and commerce, they were one of the largest multinational industrial complex and they made everything from watches to automobiles. Founded by Ludwig Wilhelm Humboldt, a German immigrant, back in 1965, it was now headed by his son, Michael Humboldt.

In there, a woman, Susan, walks like a Greek goddess in her high heels and her fur coat for the cold weather of New York. She stopped suddenly and through the glass door, saw a man been interviewed by the human resources guy.

No, it couldn't be.

She called up one of the employers; who was at once stunned that she knew the name of so lowly a clerk.  
-Jimmy- she said in her distant yet warm tone –Is that the new Financial Manager? - She pointed at the dreaded man with her finger clothed in a crimson leather glove.

-Yes miss Sullivan- he said, somewhat nervously –Do you know him?-

Susan stared at him with a dead glance through her sunglasses for a while, then turning slightly to Jimmy, the clerk, and saying in a soft tone –By no means- She walked away infuriated, her anger could be heard in the imposing sound of her every step.

Sean Sebastian Sullivan-Suárez, who was being given a few guidelines by the human resources guy, some tall white skinned folk named James, with an odd air of youth while being well into his forties, stared back at Susan until James snapped his fingers.  
-Mr. Sullivan- he said –Over here-

Sean turned his glance to him and shook his head –Beg your pardon-

-Do you know her?- James said –That's Susan, the CTO-

-I know- he smiled dryly –She's also my sister-

James chuckled –I now see how you got the job-

Sean nervously tapped the desk –Well, actually- Sean shrugged –She's sort of the one reason I considered not taking it- his smile faded while memories flooded in.

James swallowed –I see- there was a moment of silence in the office –Well, I believe we are done here- he smiled –Jimmy!- he called for the clerk.

The office boy quickly stood at the door, his raggedy red hairs resting after an abrupt run –Yes sir?-

-Lead Mr.—he looked at the paper in front of him and quickly corrected himself-Doctor Sullivan into his office, please-

-On it mister! - Jimmy replied.

Sean stood up and said his goodbyes, following the office boy into what would henceforth be his office; it was a rather extensive place.

-Anything you need sir? - The office boy asked. 

-No thanks Jimmy- with a simple gesture he dismissed him and then sat at the rotating chair, checking the computer there present to see what things he needed to catch up with. While he went through the files his mind was focused on one thing and one thing only: His sister.

His memory focused on that untimely moment, after Austin's dead, when a heartbroken Susan left his place after discovering his affair with Nina. While she withheld this gossip from her family, in hopes of not disturbing the peace of mind of her parents, she had since fostered a hatred for even the shadow of Sean that could only get stronger in the flames of time and rancor.

And thus Sean Sebastian Sullivan-Suárez continued with his labor, knowing every day at work would be rather long and tiresome.  
Midtown High School, Queens  
November 23rd, 2015 

A professor, with an huge pair of glasses over his absent minded face and head full of baldness, began to write on the board.

He wrote as if inspired by the muses, even though the verses were memorized, not original, it was written with an archaic language as if quoting from an old poem or prose, the board in front of him read thus:

"The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,  
And I am next of kin;  
The guests are met, the feast is set:  
May'st hear the merry din. 

He holds him with his skinny hand,  
'There was a ship,' quoth he.  
'Hold off! Unhand me, grey-beard loon!'  
Eftsoons his hand dropt he. "

The professor, coming down from the high heavens in which he was enraptured, looked enthusiastically at his class, a wide and aloof smile in his face.

-Can somebody tell me where this comes from? - The professor looks around his class.

A room full of students that are either incompetent or uninterested, sometimes both, most of them were buried on their phones, their hairs were brown and yellow, red and sometimes blue, there was one girl, however, the one girl wearing a purple dress as opposed to jeans and a t shirt, whose deep brown eyes slightly lifted to the board in a slight curiosity.

-Sarah? - The teacher asked, the girl, with her raven wavy hairs, lifted her head and with wide eyes she looked at the board, she quickly and discreetly put her phone back in her backpack, muttering slowly.

-Uhm...uhm- she thought for several seconds –The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coolidge? - 

The teacher and some of the class chuckled.

-Close enough, Sarah- said the professor –But it's actually Samuel Taylor Coleridge- 

The girl blushed slightly with a tad bit of shame for her mistake, fortunately for her, half the class was not paying attention, and most of the other half did not know the name of the author either, so there was no major issue.

The bell ringed and they exited the room quickly, Sarah walking to her locker and scrolled through it looking for her notebooks and books as she was about to go to her chemistry class.

Behind her walks a blonde girl with big blue eyes, slightly shorter than her, this was Gwen, her best friend, she tapped Sarah's shoulder gently and Sarah turned around, smiling.

-Hey- Gwen said.

-Hey- Sarah replied, but she quickly turns around, her glance deviating to the horizon, she was looking at someone –Hey, Gwen, have you noticed how hot Parker has got?-

-You mean Parker as in Peter Parker?- Gwen inquired, her eyebrow raising. 

-Yes, that Parker- Sarah kept glancing at the horizon.

The Peter Parker she referred to, that Peter Parker, the skinny nerd from Queens, the one that always hung around that fat Hawaiian looking kid called Ned, the one that hung around that trashy pseudo-intellectual they called Michelle, the guy that was in the Marching Band and the Debate Team.

That Peter Parker.

-You're kidding, right? - Gwen smirked at her friend.

-Not quite- Sarah replied –Saw him this other time sweaty at Gym Class, oh my gosh- She mumbled, as it came to happen Sarah had quite the crush for Parker.

Gwen chuckled and began to walk away.

-Well bye now; I just so happen to have Chemistry Class in five minutes with your hottie handsome knight in a shining armor- She laughed walking away.

-Oh fuck you! - Sarah shouted rather loudly.

Gwen didn't turn her back but playfully raised her middle finger back at her, until one of the teachers, passing by her side, reprehended her.

-Miss- he grunted, Gwen quickly putting her hand down, making Sarah chuckle slightly.

She then finished gathering her stuff and walked to her physics class, her high heels making a loud sound on the floor while her hairs danced with the pace of her steps, turning her back a few times to look back at Peter, who apparently was talking to Gwen, explaining her a few subjects she didn't understand in class.

-Lucky bitch- Sarah thought to herself.

Humboldt Corporation's Offices, New York  
November 23, 3015

It was almost after hours, Susan stood in front of the door of the office of Michael Humboldt, the company's CEO.

She knocked only once before Michael, from his desk, answered loudly.

-Come in Susie! - He shouted.

Susan obeyed his voice and opened the door, still in the fur coat and high heels from earlier, a business dress below the coat, she walked up to his desk and sat down, when she opened her mouth to speak, Michael Humboldt spoke:

-I know what you're going to say-

-Then you know why I am here- she said, coldly.

-I'm not firing him-

-But Michael, he's—Michael Humboldt again interrupted her: 

-A selfish, hedonistic womanizer who can't think of anyone but himself, an hypocrite and a cynic, I know, you've told me already, several times- Michael smirked.

-Then why did you hire him?! - Susan shouted.

-Dear… dear…calm down- Michael spoke –You understand, I guess, that I cannot let your family quarrel intervene with business decisions, have you seen his qualifications? MBA at twenty two and doctorate in finances at twenty five, oh, and that post doctorate, I don't know if you've noticed but your little brother is a fucking genius, we're paying him six figures and it still looks like cheap labor compared to his actual productivity, in one bloody day he has advanced the company by months if we take it on our previous pace, no way, I am not firing him-

Susan, who stood speechless upon the rant her boss and lover, rambled –Wow- she chuckled out of a certain frustration –It really is all about money for you, isn't it?-

-Susan dear- he explained –There is almost no one like him in the field, and the ones that are like him are even worst people, he's the best we could do- he paused –I also think having a family member of yours on staff may help me meet your family better- he smirked mockingly.

She led out a deep sigh with a sarcastic smirk peering through her lipsticked mouth: -You are kidding, right?-

-Susan, we've been together for five years and I barely know your folks, have you even told your mother we are dating?-

-Well sort of…- Susan said –By the way- She raised her finger –Don't forget we have a dinner with her, Friday night, Caracas Arepa Bar, don't forget, Michael, please, please do not forget-

-Never would- Michael Humboldt said with a smile.  
Subway, New York  
November 23rd, 2015

Although it had been, exactly, two years, six months and seven days since Sean Sebastian Sullivan-Suárez, heartbroken for the death of his brother, ended his affair with Nina in front of his brother's grave, he had not for one hour of those days stopped thinking of her, this thoughts were mostly without malice, and ever since his reversion to the Catholicism of his youth, the thoughts with malice were soundly suppressed; the ghost of Nina kept haunting every step Sean Sullivan gave. The birds sang with her voice and coffee-and-milk borrowed the color of her skin, the roses sold at the sidewalk smelled like her hair and there was always, regardless of where he was, at least one woman wearing her dresses; his dreams were no exception of this poltergeist, even though he rarely dreamed of her, these and other signs and symbol, pieces and properties of Nina were spread all across his dreamscape, and Sean Sullivan knew this much too well, leading him to, in a particular period of despair, induce himself a horrible insomnia in order to escape at least one dimension of Nina. It didn't work, for he quickly found out that the texture of the ceiling appeared to spell her last name perfectly.

Sitting at the table, Sean Sullivan once again found himself victim to this trance, but he was careful enough that Dorian Day, his best friend who was joining him for dinner, did not notice for even one fraction of a second his evidently altered state of conscience.

Sean Sullivan knew not what triggered it, whether it was the waitress pearl smile, which was indistinguishable from Nina's, or the coffee-and-milk he was drinking, which in addition to resembling her skin also had a similar taste to the kisses she gave with the sunrise; all Sean knew was in a matter of seconds he had completely disconnected from his friend's lengthy explanation of the 2008 financial crisis (and how it was, contrary to the faulty consensus among economists, actually caused by central banking) and instead plugged himself to a world of fantasy where he was not himself, but Nina was always Nina and nothing could keep them apart. 

Dorian was a muscular but not too large black man who always dressed in elegant clothing even for the most trivial and casual occasions, he had grown up in the Bronx but moved frequently, an eminent student, he was forced to leave school and go to work when his father died and his mother fell ill, fortunately for him, while working as a janitor in Wall Street, he stopped mister Jonathan Johnson from ending his life after he found his wife in bed with the butler. Mister Jonathan Johnson, being the old fashioned gentleman he was, covered the boy's expenses as a token of his gratitude, in addition to teaching him all he knew and helping him acquire his stockbroking license, a profession that, with great success, he had practiced for the last three years.

Dorian's wife Diana worked night shift today at the hospital, so Dorian had met with Sean for dinner and then take his wife something to eat. In the table laid the orders they each had made and they were almost identical, submarine sandwiches with extra ham and white coffee, the difference laying in the fact that Dorian's coffee had one extra ratio of sugar.

-And so these FED fuckers come in and artificially decrease the interest rate! You know how chaotic that is?- 

-Bad shit, man- Sean said in a disinterest tone, passing his hand by his face and rubbing it against it, as if trying to wake up from a dream.

-Like hell it is! - Dorian exclaimed, gathering attention from some of the costumers there.

Sean rubbed his eyeballs and sighed, his disconnection, not just with the topic, but with the world around him, was evident. He always looked like this after emerging out of his fantasies, suddenly the world looked ever so alien, like he had never even been in the continent, the faces, clothes, smells and textures around him all seemed so odd, it was that way for several minutes until the receding tide of reality took a hold on him and he returned, reluctantly, to a world without Nina, Dorian soundly noticed his entranced state, and arching his eyebrow he muttered.

-What sort of you were you at my boy? - The words slipped out of his mouth with the scent of coffee and the ham sandwich in it. Sean looked at him for a while as if trying to recognize him, once he had identified his face with the floating name "Dorian" and that name, in turn, with the memories needed to know who he was, he was tempted to speak up to him about the truth, after all, he knew about his past sins, but, as he had done for the past two years, six months and seven days, he kept silence. The fact was no soul on earth apart from Sean's knew of his daydreams, not one, in keeping with his unspoken vow of silence to himself, Sean forced a phony smile and said –Nothing just, rough first day at work- it was not a lie, just an unrelated truth.

Dorian was not fooled, nor did Sean Sullivan intend to fool him, but, knowing his friend's manner of saying "Don't want to talk about it" Dorian played along, changing the subject to his first day at Humboldt Corporation.

-Why? Did you have morally dubious financial moves to deal with? – He smirked, coming from a stockbroker, such question was every bit ironic, and they both well knew it, Sean smiled under the shadow of a beard he had, then, after taking a bite of his sandwich, he spoke: 

-No- he clarified, taking a sip of his coffee –It's nothing of that sort, yet- he paused with the punch line –Just, you know, Susan works there- 

-I guess you had a lovely time- Dorian knew very well of his best friend's family feud, but he knew not the cause, he assumed that Sean's family did not know about the affair, as his parents, along with his remaining three siblings, remained quite close to him, it was only Susan who had acquired a sudden hatred of Sean, and Sean himself did not become very fond of Susan afterwards .

-It went better than I thought- Sean smiled sarcastically –The tension is horrible of course, and I feel like vomiting every time her perfume is on the air or her boots sound around the place, fortunately, she won't even touch the floor I work in, so our implicit peace treatise is working in a way sufficient to avoid civil war at the office, at least for the first day-

-You haven't spoken to her? - Dorian sipped his coffee –About whatever the hell she's so mad about? - He continued, the sweet taste of coffee contrasted oddly with the subject of conversation, Dorian checked his watch to see it was not late for him to take his wife something to eat; it was not, so he continued to indulge in the conversation even though he had finished his sandwich a while ago.

-Not really- Sean Sullivan looked away, avoiding, once again, the subject, as his eyes wandered, he saw an old man with a moustache reading a newspaper, on the page that was visible for Sean, an article about the so-called Devil of Hell's Kitchen, whom he had not heard of in a while, was featured.

Sean grunted and said to Dorian –What you think about that?-

-'Bout what? - Dorian inquired. 

-The Devil of Hell's Kitchen- Sean spilled the words in a low voice, upon hearing them, Dorian promptly leaned in excited, asking Sean Sullivan if The Devil of Hell's Kitchen was back on the scene –It seems so- He replied, looking even more into the newspaper.

-Well I think he's doing a damn good job, cleaning up the streets from all the scumbags the cops won't or can't take down, y'know, he's like a street level Captain America or something, big fan- Dorian said.

-Couldn't agree more- Sean said in a dry tone, looking deeply into the article.

Sean walked around, very near his apartment, ever since his talk with Dorian, more specifically, since he saw the article about the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, only one thing had been in his mind. Passing through several stands, he finally saw the one he usually bought in, Bernie's, Bernie, in question, was a fat old man with a penchant for espresso and chit chat with his regular customers, the stand, which he had owned since 1986, sold everything from newspapers to cigarettes to cheap magazines, it was, he maintained, an honest living. Sean bought the newspaper he recognized as the one the man at Subway was reading, The Daily Bugle, while the newspaper had, he had been told, a rather incendiary opinion on superheroes and other masked vigilantes, this piece in particular, as he was to learn as soon as he read it, had a rather favorable opinion.

He thanked Bernie and paid him, he then quickly got to his apartment building and rushing through the stairs –As he was not willing to wait for the elevator- and once he arrived at his apartment, he unlocked the door with an uncharacteristically nervous gesture, and shutting it again with great strength. He fell to the floor and began to read, compulsively, the article.

The piece, authored by some Lesly Lane, which was written in what appeared to him an oddly unique style, more similar to the prose of Joyce (or Faulkner) than your garden variety journalistic piece, called his attention not for the odd style and the opinion given as much as the mere subject, truth was, Sean loved the idea, he loved the fact the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was kicking the living hell out criminals, he loved the idea, the act, nay—the art, of vigilantism; the idea of becoming one himself he had entertained for quite some time, and in those ecstatic few minutes of reading, he had formed the firm and somewhat quixotic resolution of finally starting his vigilante activities that day. 

He saw no good reason why delay it further, his training in kickboxing had been the glory of his teenage years and he had never quite lost the practice, just as well, the unearthly abilities he developed ever since the death of Austin, which included but were not limited to, psychokinesis, heightened strength, speed & stamina, along a rather handsome healing factor, further enabled him to rain down on wrongdoers as the thunder of justice.

Truth was, after Austin died Sean was not only a changed man, as much as not quite a man anymore, he was, for certain, very masculine, but it was his condition as a male human, that was questionable by this point, from the outside, he certainly looked human and he had, for fear of confirming the opposite, refused the idea of taking the pertinent medical tests to confirm his humanity, he felt like a human, most of the time, but sometimes the odd way in which the magnetic field of the earth felt in his toes or the way the scent of people's eyes repulsed him made him feel like an altogether different creature evolved from quite a different line of ancestry. It was only theology that decisively confirmed that whatever he was now, he was still an instantiation of Homo sapiens, as he was quite certain that he suffered the effects of original sin.

He decided, as a way of killing his anxiety, that he was going to train, he extended his arms, which at the time felt a bit more like tendrils, and opening his palm strongly he called the dumbbells that were off in a corner, they were not that heavy but they were what he had at arm's length, throwing himself to the floor, he began to move, lifting them over and over, but quickly, he got bored, so throwing them to the air he stopped them midair with his mind and began to move them up and down, now we're talking, he thought to himself. In one stern movement, he turned around and began doing pushups, while he exercised, with his fist firmly on the floor as he pushed his body up and down, his brother Austin appeared to speak to him.

-Why are you doing this? - Austin inquired.

-To atone for what I did to you, jerk- Sean replied without breaking a sweat or lifting his eyes, he carelessly kept doing the pushups and moving the dumbbells with his mind.

-You know I forgave you centuries ago- Austin replied, beyond the grave time passed a lot slower, so it was not unusual for him to speak in this manner.

Sean frowned and with one firm jump, he put himself back on his feet and the dumbbells fell flatly on the floor.

-You did- he paused, and then said bitterly –But I didn't- he began to walk away into the freezer to get him some water.

-As you wish- Austin, who was dressed in the same clothes he had on when he died, turned his back and then put on a large black hat that looked like a raven with widespread wings, one Sean had never seen him wear while he was alive –Got places to be- and with those words he vanished, Sean always wondered where he went, and how exactly could a soul in Purgatory have "places to be", he had often entertained the thoughts that maybe his visits were not exclusive, that maybe he also met with Nina on occasion, he was tempted, so many times over, to ask him about her, whether they had spoken after his dead, what she was doing with her life. But he thought it would be impolite and racy, also, the vow of silence he had made to himself over his thirst for Nina was so strictly observed that not even the dead could know about it.

After this small conversation, Sean was left with a certain hunger so he promptly changed into a white shirt along black jeans and a black leather jacket, grabbed his keys, unlocked the door with a surgical precision of movement, and walked away from the apartment with money in his wallet. He thought, while on the elevator, of satisfying his hunger with one of the pretzel they sold down the street, and so he did, about fifteen minutes later, while he enjoyed the taste of his new acquisition, an unknown woman who must have, Sean reasoned, stolen Nina's accent, complained loudly:

<>

November 23rd, 2015  
Little Italy, New York

The scent of Cuban cigars was unmistakable, although the bourbon being consumed almost matched the strength of such fragrance, inside the environment of this house of perdition, where Italian men in black suits gathered to discuss business and perhaps catch themselves some love with the adorable assistants that moved around the place, one of them, who went by the name Rebecca, appeared so very provocative with her fifties-style black hair and red lips, along her wide hips and prominent breasts, she walked her way to the table with a seductive pace, handing a fat man in his fifties, Mr. Johnny Della Rocca, a drink, he eyed her and she smiled with a complicit grin.

The old man began to sweat, it had been years since he had been with a woman so delightful, he looked at the table and remembered the poker game he was on had just finished much to his delight; he won. Clearing his throat and trying very harshly to look manly, he said in an artificially deep voice:

-Well, gentlemen, I'm done for the night- Della Rocca stood up picking up his gain –Got business to attend to- he glanced over the brunette, who in turn made a playful gesture smiling and taking her index finger up to her mouth, biting it. His fellow gangsters had ever y impulse of laughing at him for that pathetic fake voice, but, partly out of a desire not to lose any more money to him, and partly out of fear for losing a finger or two for mocking him, they contained themselves. Della Rocca walked to a corner and paid the watchman his due, thus allowing him access to one of the rooms upstairs. The watchman, a corpulent man with a bald head and sunglasses, surveyed his own pockets until he found the right key.

-Room 14- he said, with a smile, glancing distantly at the woman he was taking to bed –Have fun- He began to chuckle, but Della Rocca's stoic expression cut him dry. He then padded the Italian's chest twice as a sign of "Go" and Della Rocca gestured for Rebecca to come along, they walked upstairs and he opened the door quickly, walking inside parsimoniously, taking great pain for her features to be more noticeable when she walked, Della Rocca sighed and shut the door. He then closed in and put his sweaty hands on her shoulders, ready for a night of mad love as if he were twenty one and hoping she was at least twenty.

-Why don't we get started baby doll? - He grunted.

Rebecca shrugged and nervously sat on the bed, trying to make up an excuse, looking around, he found a bottle of vodka, perfect opportunity. She reached for it and took a glass that was sitting on the night stand along a bit of ice. 

-Don't you…want a drink? - She smiled and Della Rocca nodded, she grinned widely for reasons different from –in fact, opposite to- what Della Rocca thought were her motives, pouring in the vodka and then attentively dropping the ice on it, Rebecca handed him his drink. Here you go, she said, and as soon as Della Rocca put the liquid on his lips he fell soundly to the floor, mostly alive but not in good shape, he would not wake up in hours. Helping herself to his coat, the woman scrounged every single piece of data that would he could use, she had not found anything a minute in, but finally, on what appeared to be a secret pocket, she found a small notebook, in it, several meetings and to-dos, perfect. She then put herself on two feet and, smiling, got it into her corset. She sneaked out of the room silently and rushed to the bathroom, finding where she had hidden it the suitcase, opening it, she found her several fake IDs, her real name, which did not figure in any of them, was Lesly Virginia Lane, she took off the wig which was choking her, to reveal her dark golden hairs, the contact lenses went off as well, revealing her grey eyes, she left on the fake fingertips as she did not, by any means, wanted to leave any mark whatsoever in the place, she took off the pads that filled her outfit and as quickly as she could, she changed herself to what appeared as a schoolgirl uniform, meaning, a black skirt along a white shirt and a tie, she fixed her hair into a ponytail that made her look even younger of what she was, fifteen or sixteen at best. She put the notebook into her suitcase and prepared to leave and saw, in the exit, two security guards. 

She leaned against the wall and cursed under breath, afterwards, she walked out with her act well planned. She walked to the door and the guards began interviewing her.

-What are you doing here, little girl?-

She put on a voice as infantile as she could pull off –Oh, I was, I was waiting for Mr. Laterza, he said he'd wait for me outside- she said, faking an innocent glance. It was, oddly enough, not exactly a lie, just a patchwork of half-truths. One of the guards chuckled and looked at the other, saying –Laterza, that old pervert- the other guard, however, remained stoic, looking at Lesly –What do you have in that suitcase, miss?- He asked bluntly.

Adrenaline ran through Lesly's veins and she punched the guard in the face with the suitcase, quickly getting behind the other guard and pressing a small metal chain against his neck while the first guard picked himself up –If you shoot your friend dies- She began choking the second guard, using him as a human shield.

-Oh, fuck it- he muttered –I didn't even like Ricky that much- he shot and Lesly threw him forward, the bullet hit Ricky flatly on the stomag, while Lesly moved with stealth getting out a Taser, she got herself behind the first guard and stabbed him in the lower back with it, he yelled out in pain –YOU FUCKING WHORE! - He said as the electricity ran inside his flesh.

She kicked him and took his gun, once he was on the floor, she looked at him firmly and, as she began to hear steps coming down, she spilled out –Sorry!- and shoot him in the head, she then turned to the other guard and did exactly the same, she rushed out of the scene with the suitcase in hand, muttering a prayer for their souls, she had her escape route calculated since before she set foot on the Club, so by the time the men had reached the hallway and found both guards shot dead, she was already far enough to be out of danger, for the time being.

Walking across the sidewalk, she put on a pair of earphones and began to listen to her notes. 

-This is Lesly Lane, the date is October 15th, 2015, I'm getting ready to infiltrate a Club called the Old Country, I have gathered the data pertaining…- She kept listening as she got out a cigarette and lit it calmly, relaxing herself from the two most recent additions to her accidental body count.

November 23rd, 2015  
Saint Philomena's Hospital, New York

A small brunette in a pale blue uniform walked around, nervously waiting for her husband (and her food) to arrive. She had been working for approximately eleven hours in a row and she most definitely needed a break. While she was currently working as a nurse, she had finished her Bachelor of Medicine, along other titles, and was hoping soon to receive the last diploma she needed to start practicing as a psychiatrist, although, as she thought of it more and more, perhaps she was the one in need of psychiatric care, especially with her chronic anxiety.

It was getting late; the clock was five minutes later than last she checked, full on five minutes! This was an outrage, no doubt, she was so mad at Dorian! He was always busy with work and when he's finally free he can't even bring her a snack! But then, she thought, what if he was not safe and sound, what if he had, for instance, been kidnapped or worst, she entered in a seconds-long panic attack where the thought of calling her father, Captain Murray Mason, became increasingly tempting. But, snapping her out of the stream of thought came the voice of her husband from behind, whispering in her ear.

-Boo! – Said Dorian, as if mimicking a ghost or fright.

She turned her back with a huge smile on her small face, she kissed him sweetly after saying: "Dorian!" she then parted and said: -I was waiting for you- . Dorian apologized for taking so long, arguing that the traffic was hell bound. Mrs. Diana Day (nee Mason) quickly forgave him as the husband handed her the snack she had asked for. A Deli sandwich and orange juice, she smiled and kissed him again, but quickly said –Well, gotta rush babe- She walked away –My break is up in ten minutes-

-Love you- Dorian said and his wife replied in turn, a doctor, who was merely passing by smirked and glanced slightly at Diana "Could have done better" he muttered. Dorian looked at him firmly and grunted –Excuse me? - Diana walked in and nervously interrupted –He's just joking, Dorian- she put a hand in her husband's chest –Relax- The Doctor stood there in silence, a bit scared by the way Dorian looked at him infuriated –Well another joke like that and I'm going to knock those pearl teeth out of your smug face- The doctor smiled nervously and said –Got it, got it, just a joke- He walked away and Dorian stared at him, making the resolution to mop the floor with him if he ever heard his voice again. 

He walked away and got into the car, frustrated, hitting the wheel a few times over and, while on the parking lot, he called Sean Sullivan, a few minutes later, after explaining the basics to him, Dorian said: -And then this bastard comes in and starts eyeing my WIFE'S ASS going like "Yo you could have done so much better than that nigga" and I'm like "Excuse me? Imma fuck you up if you keep talking to my wife like that" and you know the excuse? Oh it was just a joke! What kind of a fucking joke is that man?!-

Sean, while he insisted that Dorian should teach him some manners, was absent, not, as usual, in the thoughts of Nina, but in an impulse of righteous violence that was soon to drive him to go out on the street looking for some crime to stop.

November 23rd, 2015  
New York City

Sean Sullivan, who at this moment wore a long grey coat along a blue shirt, black gloves, shades and a small cotton face mask, walked around like a shadow, looking everywhere for something that would catch his attention, finally, near the docks, he saw a few suspicious looking men dealing with what appeared to be mobsters, a cargo full of high tech weapons, he thought, although he would soon be proved wrong.

In truth, the package they were receiving was a total of ten girls and five boys, ages thirteen to fifteen, human trafficking was the new business around the place. Sean descended like a leaf in the wind, and with firm steps he advanced in the direction of the mobsters.

-Who the fuck is this guy? - Said one of them, upon getting no answer from his partners, he yelled out –Get lost- Sean paid no attention and kept walking to them at the exact same pace, one of them withdrew a weapon and repeated –Get lost!- When Sean did not stop, the man pulled the trigger, the bullet flew it's way surely and rapidly, but stopped cold approximately two inches from Sean Sullivan's person , it then dropped to the floor when he made a gesture. –Oh, great- one of the mobsters sighed –Another freak- They walked as near him as they could and one by one tried to take him down, Sean manhandled them as quickly as possible, the first one receiving a firm punch in the windpipe that put him in the floor at once, the second one, who tried to jab Sean, was quickly forced into a lock until he passed out, and so, one by one, they fell, either unconscious or with a broken bone, until, one of them, who was for lack of a better word the leader, took out one of the big guns, loaded with what they had come to call a Judas bullet and, pointing to Sean, he whispered –You son of a bitch!- And shot, the bullet, which for some reason was not stopped by Sean's psychokinesis, pierced him in the stomag, and before Sean got a chance to react, it exploded inside him, sending him to the water, there he floated, in the midst of a cloud of his own blood, but Sean, who quickly opened his eyes, pulled all of the blood back into himself and slowly, his organs were put in place as his wounds healed, letting out a mechanical sound that could chill the bones of the dead. 

The mobster, hearing this, ran from the scene, leaving the package right on the spot. Sean emerged with his vital functions restored, after sinking in the deepest of the lake. The first thing he heard on the surface were police sirens entering the scene, so considering his work finished, Sean dived deep into the water, far below what any policeman could check with his lantern, and swam his way back home, with the odd—body parts, that emerged, propelling him at a speed sufficient to arrive in a matter of seconds to the other end of the lake. Emerging once again, he made sure no one was in place, with an effort so great that left him with a back pain for the subsequent week, he removed the water from his clothes and skin with his mind. And finally he walked home to recover from the freezing cold. That night he dined, or rather second dined, with a large plate of cereal and some half cooked stake, along two glasses of bourbon he had, in his honest opinion, earned. He then said his prayers and enjoyed a dreamless sleep, for the first time in two years, six months and seven days; his sleep had no trace of Nina.

November 23rd, 2013  
Saint Philomena's Hospital, New York

Around the hour when Dorian Day visited his wife Diana to bring her a meal, the time for visits was up. 

Exactly two years earlier, the time for visits was up, at the exact same hour.

Parker Robbins, who had been in the room for the past few hours, held his mother's hand tightly. She was an old woman, but not old enough, not for this. They desperately attempted to have a normal conversation.

-And how is Sarah- said Parker's mother, smiling, she then coughed heavily - How's the baby?-

-They're alright- Parker said absently, melancholically. 

-Parker- his mother called him firmly.

-Yes, mother?-

-You're a good boy, you've always been, a working man, a wonderful husband and a dutiful son, and soon, you'll be the world's greatest father, I want you to promise me something, whatever happens to me, if I don't make it out alive to see my grandson, don't forget about Sarah and your kid, please don't, they're your future, Parker, I myself am just the past-

-Mother…- Parker tried to protest.

-I'm 67 years old, perhaps not old enough to be a dying old woman but fuck it. So it is, I know I'm not living for much longer, I know you can't pay the bills alright, I've heard you cry your heart out in the waiting room, if it should ever come down to me or Sarah—Sarah and the kid (she rectified), choose them, Parker, not me, if you can either feed them or pay for my stay, feed them, take me home and let God's will be done-

-Mother I will not listen to this!-

-You have to, Parker, do it for me- Parker was on the verge of crying as he heard all this; his mother begins to cough heavily and Parker diligently handed her a pill and a glass of water, once she swallowed the pill, she calmed down. A doctor walked in, putting a hand on Parker's shoulder, saying –Time's up, son- But my mother, Parker began to say, the Doctor gave him a compassionate look and said: -She's in good hands, Parker. Go home to your wife- Parker felt deeply offended by this, the doctor was, in his opinion, belittling him greatly, Parker scoffed and stood up, putting on a jacket and leaving the room frowning. "Go home to your wife" he muttered in low voice, what a prick.

A few minutes later, Parker was on the subway, it was still early enough for him to take a small detour without his wife paying attention to it. So he held tight to his wallet and stepped down on the right station, around two or three stations away from his crappy apartment building. 

He opened his wallet and saw only a pathetic twenty dollars bill, he sighed. Walking around the slums, Parker saw a hobo sleeping on the sidewalk. Inside the decaying hat where he begged for change, a shiny fifty dollars bills, fifty. Parker thought it was a waste to give a hobo that much, looking around to check no one was around; he grabbed the fifty bucks and ran in his destination. Finally reaching the building he entered and, as the elevator was broken, walked his way up to the first floor. Apartment 23-a. He knocked the door three times, as it was the proper code, and a Caribbean morena opened to him, her young curves were so exquisite that she looked as provoking as if she were a virgin, which she most definitely was not. She smiled widely and seemed comfortable with the weather in spite of her bare outfit which consisted of fishnets, short shorts and a small t-shirt that only reached until half her torso. 

Parker smiled and said: -Alejandra, how are you?-

The brunette raised an eyebrow and said –You got the cash? - He handed her the money and she smiled broadly –Come in, I'll bring you coffee- He stepped inside and sat down and she began to walk to the kitchen, it was her special combo for long term customers: a cup of the best Colombian coffee and a night of any given fantasy the client may have. Parker raised his hand and said: Hold on.

-Can we…um, talk? - He asked, visibly uncomfortable. 

-There's hotlines for that, sweetheart- she teased –I only do the real thing-

-No, no- he clarified –I mean talk, as friends, you know me, I mean, I'm a fairly regular client and I- the morena hushed him –Alright, Parker, I hear you- You know I'm married, right?- Parker said –Well, you've called me Sarah like nine times over, so yes, I know you are married- she smiled widely and chuckled wickedly –But just before you ask, I don't do repaying, you got it, you pay it- 

-No- Parker cleared his throat –It isn't that, just, you see: my mother is dying, she's sick, and you know what she told me? That woman had the gut to tell me I should just take her home and let things roll! - Alejandra asked if it was his wife who told him that, to which Parker replied, flabbergasted, that no, it was his mother who told him that!

Alejandra, at great risk of losing one of his most frequent clients, stood up and said his mother was right, that it was the best –You're a good guy, Parker, but Pete's sake, the woman asked for it, and with good reason! You must take care of your wife- Parker stood up offended, ready to leave, as he turned his back, the prostitute said –I saw you on the street, you know?- Parker turned back to face her –I know you stole from a hobo- She walked in, rolling the fifty dollar bill into Parker's hand, and then he began caressing him –If you need it so badly, I may give you a little discount just for this once, it's on the house, handsome- she whispered, then walked to her room –Why don't you come over here and be bad for a while?- That night, after sneaking out of the lover's bed, Parker returned the stolen fifty bucks to the hobo down the street, walked all the way back to his house and, not wanting to cope with insomnia, he tried on, for the first time, that weird hood that he and his cousin John had found in an abandoned warehouse exactly six months and seven days ago.

November 24th, 2015  
New York City

Sean sat shirtless on the stool, it was seven o'clock in the morning and Diana was checking on what was left of his wounds, it was a rather superficial checking of course but by no means was Sean actually going to a hospital, he did not want to explain exactly under what circumstances he had gotten himself in that condition. Diana, however, knew it perfectly, and so did Dorian; surprised, she smiled.

-Wow- she said while she checked the increasingly healing scars on Sean's stomag. 

-What? - Sean inquired. Nothing, she said, explaining that she had never before checked a superhuman, but she had indeed heard of the explosive bullets, that is why she was so awed at Sean's relatively harmless state –Are you serious that it exploded inside you? And your organs were out of place? And you sucked your blood back into your system?- Yes, he replied to all of them, making it clear that somehow, he could "feel it" and he could still, inside his head, hear the slow movement of the smallest pieces as they put themselves back into biological clockwork.

-Impressive- she said, running a gloved hand through the scars, she then quickly stood up and said –Well Sean, just try not to get shot like that again in at least a week or two and you should be fine and dandy, I'm off to work now- 

-So am I, want me to drop you off?- She sighed saying yes, as Dorian always took the car, Sean chuckled. As they began to exit, Sean snapped his fingers –Oh! And I forgot to tell Dorian, I got three tickets for the game on Friday night-

-I'm not sure we can make it Friday night, we got a dinner with my dad at the Shwarma Palace- Sean asked her at what time, and when she replied 9:30, Sean smiled widely –Then you should be good, the game starts at 7 o'clock- Diana smiled and said –Alright, then, Dorian would kill me if I didn't tell him- she got out her phone and put on a reminder, Sean arched an eyebrow –Hey, I'm busy at the hospital so I tend to forget things, ok?- 

Sean smirked and said –Jeez, you look like my grandmother- Diana smiled playing along, and as she picked up her stuff, she said:

-Eat shit, Sean-


	2. Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean goes to the game with Dorian and Diana, unexpected events ensue.

Chapter 2: Night Out

"Carpe diem"-Baroque saying  
New York City  
November 27th, 2015

The closest Sean Sullivan ever came, in his long life, to forgetting Nina and subsequently, to finding happiness, was when he was twenty three.

The woman with whom he approached love was, of course, Rebeca Remedios Villalobos Suárez, his second cousin on his mother's side. She was a girl of extraordinary beauty and a prudently free spirit, a brunette of matching chocolate eyes and snow white skin, pink, thin soft lips and a quiet and reserved attitude, she had always enjoyed the company of her older relatives, specially Sean's, as Rebeca Remedios was always curious and liked to discuss subjects of the intellect. She had loved him since she was fifteen and he was twenty, but kept it a secret almost even from herself, she only came to profess it, and he to requite it, the year when she turned eighteen and he turned twenty three, it was her birthday, which was in the midst of June. They had, however, in spite of their secret passion, kept it confined to letters for fear of the scandal their affair would provoke if it should become knowledge to others. This was also the year when Sean, who had graduated with honors from Empire State University, received a scholarship to continue his education in London, unbeknown to Sean, Rebeca had also applied for the scholarship and also obtained it, applying to the same university although for a different career, and so while Sean studied business and finances, Rebeca devoted herself to the study of psychology. The entire city of London was, then, their secret hideout, where, all around being ignorant of their common heritage, they could live their relationship peacefully. They, however, did not live together, Rebeca had arranged a near but distinct apartment (next door from Sean's, in fact) as she did not want to live with a man she loved without first marrying, even if that man be her cousin.

And marriage they had, indeed, thought of, Sean was about to propose to her in a cloudy day on their favorite table at their favorite square. They were, as per usual, drinking white coffee and discussing whichever book they were in the process of reading (in this case, Truman Capote's In Cold Blood) but as soon as Sean got into the subject of romance, Rebeca avoided him with stern gestures, but she eventually mellowed up to her usual self, acting as what she truly was: a girl wise beyond her years, but a young, almost teen-ish girl nevertheless; seeing her previous attitude, Sean chose to postpone his proposal a bit. Their affair ended the following day, when she was twenty and he was twenty five, she rejected his advances in a sudden strike of modesty. A month later Sean Sullivan left the city of London, which up until then had been their own Garden of Eden; with his eyes open and perceiving himself naked.

Many years later, Sean still thought of her very often, of course, after Nina had, woefully, returned to his life, he never could think of Rebeca as a woman, but he could think of her as a fond memory and a beloved distant relative. They did not speak again, nor did they need to. Rebeca stayed in London, for she had grown home in the city and now could only find herself a foreigner either in her hometown Barquisimeto or in New York, where she spent her late childhood and her entire adolescence.

Sean had not, however, remembered her in a few days, actually, in the whole month, for a series of unrelated incidents that had subsequently blocked from the lurking of his subconscious all smells of Rebeca up until that day, in the early morning of November 27th, a Friday, when Sean had woken up screaming from a nightmare as he used to do in his childhood, he looked around his room and, after consuming four glasses of water and two raw eggs, he got himself to sleep again with sheets that had an odd fragrance of Nina, in that sleep, he dreamed of Rebeca, it later occurred to him as an afterthought to write her sometime, but he then thought that, after graduation, she had probably moved to a better apartment, meaning he had no direction to send the letter to, he also had no number or email to write to, this could easily be solved by telephoning her mother and first cousin of Sean's mother: Alice. But with the ins and outs and work and the thought of the game he was going to with Diana and Dorian that night, the task was buried in an endless list of to-dos that were never carried to term. And Rebeca too was buried in the depths of his memory, until some other casual incident; perhaps a week or two from now, would remind him of her once again, merely as a beloved distant relative.

That morning he woke up, like every other morning, thirty five minutes before six o'clock, he took a long shower in which he spend more time dozing and thinking about any abstract subject than soaping. He opened the door and walked into his room, drying absently, as a matter of fact, Sean was absent to almost everything he did that did not require much thinking. He brushed his teeth and, once he was fully dressed, his clock struck 6 o'clock and kneeling down, he prayed the Angelus. Once he was done he made his way to the kitchen and had a large breakfast that involved anything from pancakes to pizza leftovers accompanied by a large mug of white coffee. The taste reminded him of Nina, but only for a second, as soon as he tasted the next pancake, the thought had left.

He looked around afterwards, walking around his apartment as he usually did while nervous and moving things around with his mind, as he usually did, when anxious. The problem was Sean Sullivan had no idea as to why he was anxious or nervous, when his clock marked six thirty; he left his apartment and got himself to work, approximately twenty minutes later.

His work day transcurred uneventfully, he finished all his tasks quickly and laid down in his chair to think. He was thinking about Monday, about the whole vigilante affair and his beating of the gangsters, of almost all of them, anyhow. He had won, in spite of one escaping after shooting him. Because the cargo had been left there and the police took it; saving the kids inside. He relived the moment when the bullet got to him, over and over, but he also remembered the adrenaline of recovering, the speed with which he swam, as well as the extra body parts that had helped to propel him, they were…tendrils? Maybe so, or maybe not, all he knew is they could propel him faster than he ever thought possible. He had performed feats before, but the sensation of this one was a whole new thing.

In his lunch break, Susan had given him a dead cold look, but he was so abstracted in his memory that it did not matter to him; he did not even return the gesture. Many hours later, when sharing dinner with the woman that gave birth to them both, Susan relived the memory, and she was so angry that she had to excuse herself to the bathroom and smoke a whole pack of cigarettes so she could calm herself a bit.  
New York City  
November 27th, 2015

Sarah woke up early that morning, tormented by the somber prognosis of a math test, she had studied for it and to her knowledge, she mastered the subject sufficiently, but it did not make the ever approaching hour of exam any less frightful. In spite of being scared to the bone, she rose from her bed diligently; she showered and quickly clothed herself with a dark blue sweater and a black skirt, along white shoes and her plastic pearl collar. She put on some basic makeup and after picking up her backpack, she resolved to study a bit while waiting for the bus.

Sarah got to school mumbling to herself about the math test, she greeted Gwen quickly and returned to her senseless murmur. Gwen asked her why she was so nervous and she that one, she was anxious, not nervous; and two, she had no idea, but she most definitely was. Sarah walked to her math class almost sweating, finally remembering she had a date with Tim from the football team that night at 7 o'clock, she postponed giving it a further thought until she was done with the test, after writing through the whole thing, she dropped it at the teacher's desk like it was burning her hand, she then returned to her seat and calming down, resting in the certainty she had done it all right, she gave herself to thinking about the date.

Tim was a nice guy, for sure, not exceptional but amicable nevertheless, his broad shoulders and raggedy brown hairs had made more than one girl, even Gwen at some point, untreatably crazy about him for long periods of time, Sarah, on the other hand, had noticed him and found him pretty, but never particularly been enchanted by him nor his pearl white smile nor his big muscles.

He had asked her out last Wednesday, after gym class, she was caught off guard and the sweat favored his muscles quite a bit, Sarah was not one to say no to a date without a valid reason, so she accepted, even if she was not particularly interested—or disinterested, for that matter—in Tim.

She saw him now in the corridors; she greeted him cheerfully with a chaste kiss on his cheek and nodded when he told her he'd pick her up at 6:30 <> she said almost impersonally and parting her lips in a flirty smile, she then walked away and continued her day normally, ignoring the rambling of Mr. Johnson in History and Miss Chambers in Spanish, or how Miss Chambers called it: <> , finally, as the school day ended, Gwen walked to her and asked if she wanted to go to the movies, to which she replied she couldn't, as she had a date with Tim. Tim? Gwen asked:

-As in Tim Adler? - Gwen asked in her usual tone, her eyebrow raising wanting to dig deeper into the gossip –Yeah- Sarah quickly replied as if it was no big deal –Tim Adler the Captain of the football team? - Gwen teased –You really know him don't you? - Sarah replied sharply –Not quite- her blonde friend said –I just wanted to make sure I was getting all the data right when I publish your memoirs- Sarah chuckled and said –Oh fuck off!-

-Hey- Gwen continued –He's about the last guy in the football team you have not dated yet, I think this is a milestone of some sort- 

Sarah could not help but to be at least a bit offended by this suggestion, although she knew that it was, most likely, true –That is so not true!- Sarah chuckled and pushed her aside –I've only dated like three of them- Gwen looked around and said –Yeah, for sure…- Sarah walked away while saying –Well, got places to be, if you excuse me- and she quickly departed, she did not mind with the school bus this time, and instead took the metro, oddly enough, she seemed to appear on her front door much quicker, Sarah entered and locked the door, petting the Persian cat that laid calmly the mat. There was no one in the house; Sarah helped herself out of her delicate white shoes and now walking on her socks, she took the food in the microwave. Setting the plate on the table, she began to eat. She checked the hour, it was three thirty. After her meal was finished she went upstairs and feeling a sudden weight over her back, she threw herself at the bed and set her phone to wake her up at 5:45, once the alarm was set the small brunette gave herself to a spontaneous but deep sleep, which did not end until it was, brutally, interrupted by her phone at the hour she had set it, she felt lazy, as her bed felt too cozy in the cold and dark room she had for herself, but with a superhuman act of the will, she stood up and walked to the bathroom, in there she staggered and dosed for several minutes until finally being able to walk inside the shower, she soaped like a lady for a sufficient time span and then she exited with grace wrapped with two white towels, she picked up for the date a vibrant scarlet sweater and a maroon skirt along a short cape she wore in case it was cold. She also wore a pair of scarlet high heels; she painted her nails in a matching tone.

As promised, at 6:30, exactly twelve hours after Sean Sebastian Sullivan had gotten himself to work, Tim came to her front door to pick her up, as no one was yet in the house, she left a note in the freezer to her aunt and uncle Went to the game, will be back before midnight . The game, of course, would be over way before midnight, but she knew not what other plans Tim may have to she put that a reasonably high limit so she could be solvent for any situation, stepping down the door she entered the car, it was a pale blue Hyundai, Tim greeted her and they drove off.

The game transcurred normally, the local team won, much to the celebration of the audience, Sarah did not particularly care, she enjoyed watching, but she did not much cared who won, it also occurred that when walking to her seat she crashed with a man that gave her the strange feeling she had seen him before but he had not seen her before. It was an eccentric sensation that disappeared as soon as it appeared, Tim was nice and non-intrusive, after the game he took her to dinner and some ice cream in a small restaurant down the road; he then kissed her in the parking lot and dropped her in her house at eleven thirty.  
Daily Bugle's Offices, New York  
November 27th, 2015

Lesly Lane sat on the waiting room, tapping her feet against the floor. She had arranged this meeting with Jameson on Tuesday, but only at this time was the Editor in Chief of the Daily Bugle free to speak, when his secretary, Brant, called her, Lesly stood up and walked to Jonah's office, with her fingers crossed as to what he had to say of her last piece.

-Hey Jonah- she said walking into the office, behind an extremely ornamented desk, sat a man in a rotating chair, he turned his back quickly, chewing a cigar with his rough teeth, a Chaplin-style moustache over the border of his upper lip. He leaned in and his usual yelling tone, he said –LESLY! How are you Goldie? - He put out his cigar, crushing the burning end in the ashtray –How's your father? Look I haven't been able to finish your book, too busy bossing these assholes around, but I'll finish it on; Brand, am I free next Saturday? Yes?! Next Saturday then - 

Lesly's father, Colonel Louis J. Lane, had saved Jonah's life when they were both serving in the Gulf War, a conflict they had both grown to hate with fervor stronger than the one of all those hippie protesters from the Colonel's native decade. After Jameson came back home, he founded the paper now known as The Daily Bugle and, when the daughter of the man who saved his butt manifested her journalistic interest, he was more than happy to receive her with his arms open. Ms. Lane, who valued her independence, never fully came to work for the Daily Bugle or any other newspaper, however; she simply wrote articles, investigations, and sold the material to the highest bidder, sometimes, her most incendiary or experimental pieces didn't get published in a newspaper or magazine so she put them up together and made them into a book, she had gained some notoriety for Palace of Eagles, her two volumes work criticizing the Ellis administration; Blood Spring, a revisionist history of the Gulf War (coauthored with her father) and most recently, Web of Lies: An Unauthorized Biography of Natalia Alianovna Romanoff (otherwise known as the Black Widow).

-He's fine- she toyed around with one of the rings she had in her left hand –So…what do you say? You liked the article I sent you? - 

-Oh it is pure GOLD! - Jonah exclaimed loudly; Robbie, who was on the corner, made himself known by the first time in saying that he was just telling Jonah the material was good but unpolished, it needed a more professional and objective outlook and he said that outright accusing some of the names in there of the crimes they were, in the piece, linked to, was insufficiently sustained and unethical, Jonah gave his employee a serious look and then, in an uncharacteristically calmed fashion, said –Robbie, you're full of shit!- He then returned to his yelling –Everything this woman writes is gold, ok? We boomed our sales with the Devil of Hell's Diner article last Monday, did we not? As I say, Gold, now please cut the lady a check, a check for…three hundred, no wait, that's too much, a hundred fifty, no, that's too little, a hundred fifty dollars and a ticket for the Mets, you like the Mets right? Yes?! Alright, get this woman her hundred buck and her fifty buck and her fucking ticket for the Mets- 

-Jonah…- Robbie tried to argue, but knowing his boss like the back of his hand, he sighed and lowered his head –On a minute boss- 

Lesly stood up triumphantly, smiling and saying <> she said and left the office, taking her pay and her ticket, today was a good day, this was her third sale in the day (even if the one with the lowest pay) and she was up for the fourth, with her usual routine, she usually took home three hundred or even four hundred dollars per day (not counting, of course, the book royalties every now and then), all thanks to her endless net of connections, small amounts of sleep, investigation skills and wit. She exited with the dollars and the ticket in her wallet.

She went through the rest of the meetings she had planned, after lunch, she was interviewed on CNN about her book on Black Widow and then (via Skype) on Free Talk Live about the Ellis bombing of Afghanistan and the tension with Latveria. After her daily schedule was done, she lit a cigarette and put on Highway 61 Revisited, the whole album. Once she had helped herself to some bourbon, she remembered the ticket she was given was for tonight's game, she checked her watch and saw she still had time to spare, so she took out his grandfather's electric typewriter (because she only used the computer for professional or otherwise trivial writing, the real shit was on the typewriter) and wrote, for the umpteenth time this month, the preface to that great American Novel she could never write, in spite of her dexterity with prose, it was the plot that was hard to catch. Would it be another novel about a disillusioned veteran picking up with his moral existence? As if Walker Percy and Ernest Hemingway had never been on the scene. Would it be a celebration of the simple folk? Or did Twain and Bradbury steal the privilege? She knew not what to write, even with all she had read. Frustrated, she put away the typewriter, not to use it again in weeks, when the hour approached, she put down the cigarette she had dancing in her lips, after barely taking a smoke or two, and rushed herself to the bathroom, stepping down she first applied eye shadow around her grey eyes, as she always did first thing in the morning and after every shower, later she selected for her slick body a comfortable and casual outfit, black jeans and a white sleeveless t-shirt, along a black jacket, she picked her golden hairs in a messy onion and put back on the several golden rings that adorned her long and thin fingers, grabbing her keys, she exited the apartment.  
New York City  
November 28th, 2015

Sean Sullivan heard the sound of heavy knocks in the door, by the sound the knocks had, it was clear the person was wearing several rings, he intuited the person's identity from that, so he rushed to the mirror and spilled <> As an excuse to fix his appearance as best as he could, then, he opened the door, behind it, he found Ms. Lesly Lane; he tried very harshly for his jaw not to drop upon seeing her in the fresh sun of a Saturday morning, she smirked reading his reaction all too well, she knew men well, and she particularly felt as if she had known Sean for her whole life, or his whole life, which was longer than her own by three years. 

-Lesly, hey, how is you? - He muttered, suddenly becoming aware that he was only in loose green shorts and a dark blue undershirt –What are you, what are you doing here?-

-I want to speak for a minute, you mind catching breakfast with me? - 

-Sure, sure- he fully opened the door –Come in please-

Lesly look at her for a couple of seconds and clarified –I meant outside, there's a diner down the street I usually go to, if you don't mind?- She was a bit awkward by the misunderstanding and did not want to come off as rude 

-Oh, alright, come in in any case, sit down, I'll be ready in a minute- He set himself aside from the door and Lesly walked in and sat in the living room, around, in the kitchen, there was a thin blonde in her early twenties, with a short (short for a girl, anyways) haircut and pink lips, she was covered in a grey shirt that was clearly not hers but Sean's as it fitted her too big, and underneath that merely a pair of gym shorts, the short haired blonde looked at Lesly and then said out loud, with a glass of orange juice in her hand –Sean, who is this?- Lesly looked at Sean with an inquiring look and said –Yeah, Sean, who am I?- 

Sean quickly catched how bad the whole situation looked, but promptly explained –Oh, Lesly, that's my sister Samantha, the younger one, remember? The one who is studying Graphic Design? She had a fight with her roommate so, she's staying here for a couple of days- 

Lesly nodded and turned her back to look at the younger blonde –Oh, I see- she said and quickly turned to Sean again, Sean realized he had not explained to his sister who the stranger on the living room was, snapping back to his senses he said –Oh, Samantha, this is Lesly, she's a friend, well- he walked into his room and hid behind the walls as he changed –We met last night actually, but, we hit it off, didn't we Les?- He asked up in the air and Lesly, in turn, nodded her head and turned to Samantha –We did- 

A few seconds later, Sean Sebastian Sullivan exited his room dressed in the same clothes he had one when he met Lesly last night at the game, he had shaved the beard he had sported for the last month, his large jaw now entirely clean. Lesly looked at him and inquired –What happened to the beard? - 

-A Gillette and some anxiety- Sean replied and then changed the subject –Let's go to the diner shall we?-

-Wait- Samantha inquired –You guys going out for breakfast? Sean, we just had breakfast! - 

Sean replied quickly –Yes, but Lesly and I got things to discuss and she said we settle it in a diner down the street, also, you know I'm a big eater, I don't mind a second breakfast- he scoffed and then turned to Lesly –Shall we?-

Lesly Lane stood up and glanced up at him with a confident look, trying very harshly to imitate a cheap British accent –We shall- they chuckled

They walked down the street with Lesly taking the lead, Sean sighed to himself when he saw the establishment, but not wanting to contradict Lesly, he entered in any case, and sat down, they ordered and began to talk

-Do you know this place?- Lesly asked –You've been looking around since we came in-

-Yeah, I know the place- he said dryly and then continued –My mom owns it- 

-Oh that's great!- Lesly opened wide her big, grey eyes –What a coincidence?-

-I don't like coming in here-

-You got problems with her too? Like with your sister Susan? Cause it didn't appear so - 

-No, quite the opposite, she wouldn't let them charge me, and I'd feel guilty for coming in eating and not paying, so I avoid to come here, mom shouldn't be here today though, so it's alright- 

-I see- she tapped her nails in the table

-In any case, about last night-  
-Look, it was a nice date and all, but you're not my type, and in case you meant last night as when we fucking saved the restaurant, that's what I'm here to talk about, you gorgeous gladiator-

-You tell me I'm not your type and immediately afterwards you flirt with me?- Sean arched an eyebrow 

-Daddy issues, according to my therapist- She made a gesture with her eyes and got herself a cigarette, she lifted the lighter when one of the employees tapped the "No smoking" sign on the wall <> he said –Fine!- Lesly replied and took the cigarette off her teeth without even lighting it –As I was telling you- she turned to Sean –You seem to have some pretty useful skills-

-Well, I'm well trained- He dissimulated 

-Handsome, but I meant the superhuman shit you idiot- she said in her usual blunt tone –Psychokinesis, super senses, and you also seem too catch up with those super strong or super-fast fuckers, don't you?- She paused –I could really use someone like you-

-Wait, wait- He waved with his hands –What do you mean, "use"?-

-You see, pretty prick- her black-painted nails made a strong sound in the table as their food arrived –A smart ass journalist like myself is always putting her skin in danger, you see? I can carry a gun and maybe win a black belt, but that ain't saving me from angry mobsters in the age of the Iron Man, crime is evolving Sean, and if I'm going to expose it, I need proper protection- she took the coffee mug, pitch black, as she always took it –So I came to offer a deal, you act as my personal bodyguard, or lifesaver, and I in turn give you all the inside information you need to fight crime as you said you wanted to- she smiled –Come on Sullivan, doesn't it sound good?- 

-Let me process this- Sean took his fork and knife –You- he pointed at her with the knife –Get the data to help me catch bad guys- He then pointed the fork (which had a piece of pancake in it) at himself–I save your ass so you can keep on doing that without paranormal help- He concluded and took a bite 

-Yes! Exactly- Lesly threw her arms in the air –Sound good?-

Sean chewed and said –Sounds great- he took another bit of his pancake and then asked –Want some bacon?-

-No man, I don't eat pork- she smiled complicity, Sean understood and followed the joke

-Are you Jewish? - He asked, making his best John Travolta impression

-Nah I ain't Jewish I just don't dig on swine that's all- She said, biting her tongue not to laugh

-But why not?- he said carelessly applying butter to his pancakes

-Pigs are filthy animals, I don't eat filthy animals-

-Yeah but bacon tastes good, pork chops taste good-

-Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie but I'd never knew cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker; pigs sleep and root in shit, that's a filthy animal. I ain't eating nothing ain't got the sense enough to disregard its own feces-

-What about a dog? Dog eats its own feces-

-I don't eat dogs either-

-Yeah but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?-

-Well, I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy, but, it's definitely dirty; but, dog's got personality, personality goes a long way- She finished the line and they both cracked up in laughter, the whole diner looking at them like they were insane

-So, we got ourselves a deal? Partners in crime fighting?- Sean asked while taking a sip from his white coffee mug

-Yes, we got ourselves a deal- she smiled taking a sip from her own coffee  
-Partners in any other sense? - He flirted  
-If you push your luck- Lesly glanced back at him  
Queens, New York  
November 27th, 2015

Captain Murray Mason came out of the shower while his old Simon & Garfunkel vinyl played, he had the odd habit of listening to music while he bathed, otherwise, he affirmed, he could not soap his armpits correctly nor shave his stubble without cutting; after his wife Eileen died three years ago, the only good thing he had at home was his sense of independence, he would give that up even for a second more with Eileen, of course, but since that was not an option, he decided to enjoy his independence to the best of his ability, and thus he had; for his house, too large for one person, had become a huge bachelor apartment. Full of every eccentricity Captain Murray Mason pleased to indulge in, from the arabesque carpets and grotesque paintings to the dark blue paint of the walls to the hermetic curtains that kept the house of his dreams safe and secluded from the rest of the world, it was as if the whole place was an extended bedroom for Captain Murray Mason. Diana Day had often worried about the eccentricities of her father and she suggested, more than once that he'd do better in simply selling the house and buying himself a more modest place, suitable for a sole man like himself, but he refused bitterly, arguing that he would not give up the house in which he was, for three decades, happy with Eileen, the house in which she had been born and they had raised her. In this and other antinomies Captain Murray Mason insisted, refusing thus to any possibility of moving, for he considered it a treason to his dead wife.

He exited, drying, to his room, and from the closet he picked up a maroon frock coat and matching pants along brown Italian shoes Eileen had bought him for their ten years anniversary, many years ago. He looked at himself in the mirror and judged, in his own words, that he was a <> a title he took with pride.

If there was one thing (and one thing only) he shared with his son-in-law was the dandyish attitude in dressing, he chuckled to himself at the possibility that he too may go with a frock coat and Italian shoes, which knowing Dorian, was a real possibility. He didn't want to dislike him, but he was, he thought, his duty, as it is always the duty of a hard-nosed father to despise the man who has eyes on his little girl, even when that little girl is twenty something and is married to said man.

He grabbed the keys of his car and crossed himself before starting to drive, he drove confidently and finally found the aforementioned Shwarma Palace, where he was to meet with his daughter and that leech of a husband in twenty minutes, like a true gentleman, Captain Murray Mason always got in early to all of his appointment, or most of them, at least, as his obsession with being early at places sometimes caused him to be late at other, more important moments; all this when he was younger and naïve, for since the first grey hair appeared in his head at the tender age of forty three, he had learned that and many lessons. Time was a mousetrap, as he used to say, but he was (or considered himself to be) a mouse smart enough to get the cheese and run free for another night. When the proper time came, Dorian and Diana came in; he greeted them at the door, acting as if he had just arrived. They both knew he had not, not only out of knowledge of his guilty habits, but because they had seen him walk around and curse in the worst Yiddish human ear had heard, especially because Captain Murray Mason did not speak any Yiddish proper, and simply memorized a few curse words from an old book he found in a library decades ago, he merely memorized them, however, not learn them, he had no idea what they meant, other than the fact they were curse words strong enough to discharge himself but mild enough to as not to blaspheme the sacred or insult the decent. 

In spite of that, Dorian and Diana too played along with the game, pretending they did not know he was pretending, and he fell for it. They then sat down at their table and ordered their meal; quickly they all began to talk about work. Dorian began mumbling about how Pym Tech had just gone public; sweeping the market in a literal matter of seconds. Diana spoke about her week at work, how an old man came in with several injuries and claiming to have been attacked by some super freak by the name Plantman. Captain Murray Mason and his son-in-law could not resist laughing at the name: Plantman.

Then it was time for the Captain to speak, and he did, explaining the murder at the Paper Factory Hotel:

-And so this fella has like, three bullet holes which is standard, but the odd thing is- He made exclamatory emphasis by raising his voice and leaning in, as well as raising his ghastly lengthy finger –Around the bullet holes, third degree burns, not big messy burns as they usually are but perfect little holes, circling the bullet holes- he gestured with his hands, trying to explain the shape of the burns 

-Wow- Dorian said –That's some weird shit right there-

Diana widened her eyes a bit worried that her husband's casual expression would upset her ever so unpredictable father, but instead, he chuckled and joined –Indeed, son- Captain Murray looked around –That's some bloody weird shit right there- he reassured, their food almost finished, Diana took the last bit of Falafel that remained in her plate, seeing how her husband and her father had finished as well, she asked if they wanted any dessert, they both replied no, the Captain further arguing that he had already had dinner a few hours prior, so he was actually abusing his body by the food he had just consumed. Dorian asked for the check and paid quickly, after the dinner was done, they returned home.

In the car, Diana smiled brightly to Dorian, who was driving –That went amazing-

-Yeah, never thought your old man could be so chill-

-You know he likes you, right?- They paused as the traffic light turned red –He's just a bit stern, you know, it's the way he is and I'm an only child, so-

-I know babe, you've told me several times- he replied –But remember also he intentionally said my name wrong on our wedding day- 

Diana chuckled at that memory –Oh cut him some slack, he was a fifty something years old man with three glasses of champagne on him- The excuse of her father's tipsiness was, she believed, sufficient. The nurse looked up at her husband –Plus, he promised to learn it afterwards and he did!-

Dorian chuckled and kept driving, enjoying the small talk with his wife.  
New York City  
November 27th, 2015

Sean Sullivan came down from the shower minutes before Dorian and Diana arrived to drive him to the game, as his car had been at the repair shop for a few days. He dressed promptly with a surgical precision and an artistic gusto, this was a casual occasion, so he wore a grey t-shirt and jeans, he then put on a maroon coat and his silver watch, he checked his watch, twenty minutes for the game; as soon as he was done dressing, his phone ringed, it was Dorian <> Sean Sullivan said without even bothering to let his best friend speak, he walked down the stairs and there waited Dorian and Diana Day in their white Corolla, Sean Sullivan entered, greeted Mr. and Mrs. And then sat neatly at the backseat, he didn't speak much during their drive, as he was mostly abstracted on his last Monday venture, his arteries palpitated with excitement upon the phantasms of that night. His powers had been somewhat tamed by the whole exploding bullet thing: his telekinesis seemed not as strong as before, his physical faculties were now the same as when he was a mere man, and he had a slight difficulty in making sudden moves; but he gave no thought to that, rationalizing that a great deal of energy must have been plunged to his healing, if it had been two of those damned bullets, he may had not lived to tell the tale, but the wound left by the gunshot was now, thank God, just a small scar that would be gone in a week. He had good reasons for thinking his powers would eventually return to their normal state, as they were practically gone in the immediate aftermath of his escape, after the emergency protocol his body had taken at the lake, but slowly they returned in small doses and sometimes intermittently: from super strength spasms to sleepwalking in levitation; in the last two days, however, the abilities he had back were in his full control.

They arrived to the stadium and stepped down from the car, Sean Sullivan, Dorian Day and his wife Diana all got in line. Before entering the game, Sean and Dorian purchased an obscene amount of hot dogs and cheese burgers: Diana chose not to eat much as she and Dorian had dinner planned with her father after the game and, in her own words: she ,unlike her husband, had a finite stomag.  
When walking to his seat, Sean Sullivan had to make a preternatural effort not to crash into a girl that was walking in the opposite direction; she was a small black haired teen who wore a scarlet sweater and an delicate cape and who seemed to be there on a date, Sean Sullivan couldn't help but to have the strange feeling she had seen him before but he had not seen her before. It was an eccentric sensation that disappeared as soon as it appeared.

A few minutes in, a woman walked in with a plate of nachos and sat next to him, she was a slick blonde with grey eyes and rings in her delicate hands, the game transcurred normally but within some time, Sean felt an irresistible impulse to look at her, his eyes peering against his will. A part of him hoped she would look back.

Eventually, she did. "May I have a bite?" she said with a slightly picaresque tone. He looked at her quite estranged "I beg your pardon?" He replied "Your hamburger" She insisted "May I have a bite of it, sir?" He nodded and handed her the burger, which she tasted delighted, she thanked him and gave it back to him; she then offered some nachos, which Sean took immediately. Diana and Dorian looked at each other in horror, as Sean sharing his food was a sign of catastrophe.

-What's your name? – The blonde inquired.  
-Sean, Sean Sebastian Sullivan Suárez- Sean said carelessly with his eyes focused on the game.

-That's a mouthful- She smirked –I'm Lesly, Lesly Lane-

Sean snapped his fingers and only after that he turned to her –Oh! Like Lois! - 

-Lois?-

-Y'know, Lois Lane- 

-Oh, that stupid bitch-

-You don't like Lois Lane? - He arched an eyebrow.

-Just saying, if my man was a superhero, I'd know immediately- She judged.

Minutes later, one of the players hit the ball so strongly that it flew off into the crowd, in that moment, time appeared to freeze, and perhaps it truly did, this was Sean using his powers, calmly, he put away his fifth hamburger of the night and stood up, gently grabbing the ball and sitting back, then time carried on as usual. All eyes turned to him and the crowd cheered, including the blonde "Nice catch!" She said.

After the game was done Lesly and Sean kept talking like two old friends who hadn't seen each other in years "And she's like excuse me! And the guy can't even speak the language!" They laughed hysterically as Dorian and Diana began to walk to the car, not wanting to interfere with their friend's talk.

-Hey, I'm starving; wanna go for Thai food or something? - Sean said.

-I hate Thai food- She replied.  
-Me too, wanna go for Italian instead? - He smirked and when she replied with a <> They began to walk away, Diana turned to Dorian and looked at each him confused and gesturing, as if saying "Did he just…?" to which he nodded smilingly:

-Yes- he chuckled –he did-   
New York City  
November 27th, 2015

After walking around the city for a while, Sean and Lesly argued: 

\- I mean, an award winning journalist is supposed not to know that her boyfriend and coworker is a superhero she runs into on a daily basis because of some stupid-ass glasses? Give me a break! - Lesly exclaimed.

-Ok, ok fair point, but you're forgetting, it's not just the glasses, ok? Superman stoops, wears extra clothes to hide his physique and also changes the tone of his voice, ok? The guy is a master of disguise, anyone would be fooled- Sean tried to argue with his usual peripatetic logic.

-Look, Sean, for the last time- she paused her walking to emphasize her point –I'm a journalist, any journalist worth her salt would just not fall for that shit-

-Oh- Sean paused and looked at her.

-What? - Lesly arched her eyebrows and looked at him with her big eyes, as she was quite shorter than him, she had to look up.

-Nothing just- he said –I had forgotten to ask what you do for a living-

-Just told you, I'm a journalist- she reaffirmed.

He smiled and snapped his fingers –You know, like…Lois! - 

Lesly smirked and gave Sean the middle finger <> She insisted and he just told her she had to admit the similarities, then, flowing with the subject she remarked "You do look like Superman, I guess" and then went back to a regular conversation:

–What about you handsome, what's your day job? - She said in a dramatic tone

-Oh, I'm a Financial Manager at Humboldt Corporation, started on Monday actually-

-My gosh! Handsome, educated, high paying job at a big time corporation, you really are the whole package aren't you? - She teased.

-I could say the same- he replied and they both paused, as in a romantic movie, before laughing their asses off at the deliberate absurdity of the whole situation

They kept walking, until they passed by a place called Caracas Arepa Bar.

-Oh gosh, it has been months since I ate an arepa- 

-What's an arepa? - Lesly asked.

Sean stopped his walk as if he just had a heart attack –You did not just ask me what an arepa is-

-Yeah, I did, why?- Sean, instead of answering, grabbed her by the wrist and began to walk in –Come in!- 

-But I thought we were going for Italian-

-Change of plans-

A trio of men in rain coats walked behind them, when they saw them entered, they glanced upstairs, the leader turned his back and said: 

-Let's get to work  
They sat at the table while he explained to her the delicious texture and cultural significance of this corn exquisiteness.

-And you can eat it with anything: cheese, ham, meat. It all tastes like heaven-

-Oh, so it's like a sandwich-

-Well, I mean, kind of but- Sean interrupted himself when, a few tables from them, he saw him –Oh hell- Lesly turned to him, estranged –What's the matter?- She asked, and he looked firmly at the horizon.

-That's my sister, Susan and that's…my boss, Michael Humboldt, and that over there is, wait, that's my mother!-

-Uh…- she looked every bit confused.

He leaned in and whispered –Ok, so my sister Susan is the CTO of Humboldt, and she hates me and she's…dating my boss I guess? I don't know, this is just, weird-

-We can leave if you wish- Lesly replied. 

-Well, we ordered already, so I guess we can't- 

-Alright- Lesly tried to deviate the subject but quickly, Susan saw Sean.

"You gotta be kidding me" she thought to herself and moving her chair a bit, she excused herself –Mom, Mike, I'll be back in a minute, I need to go to the bathroom- she said and stood up trying to contain her panic attack and once in the bathroom, she shut herself in a toilet and began to smoke the cigarettes she had in her purse, she was not (slightly) calmed until she had smoked the whole package.

Standing up, she saw the blonde who sat with her brother washing her hand, she sighed and turning to her, she said:

-Look, miss, I don't know how long my brother has been tricking you but, as an advice, don't lose your time-

Lesly couldn't help but to smirk –What's the matter? Afraid a nice pair of legs may take your brother from you?- 

Susan was disgusted by her words –By no means- she continued, in her pretentious tone –Look, I'm just telling you, he's a prick, don't waste time- 

Lesly Lane took a cigarette to her lips while chuckling –My gosh- she inhaled –You truly are neurotic-

After that exchange Susan exited the bathroom furious and went back to her seat, "What a slut"; the mocking tone of that girl, that low life skank, was insufferable, maybe Susan was wrong, maybe this blonde and Sean were made for each other, they were just as obscene and irreverent, and just as intolerable. The angered pace of her high heels sounding all around the place, she sat down as Michael and her mother were talking about the Basilica in Maracaibo, the crown jewel of her city.

Lesly sat while her plate awaited her, Sean had, against every animal instinct in him, waited for her before starting to eat, she sat down and smiled.

-Just had a little talk with your sister- she said smiling and getting a hold of her arepa

Sean had to make an effort not to choke with his cheese and black beans, after he finished chewing he replied:

-What?!-

-No big deal, I'll tell you later how that went-

-Ok, rule number one, you don't talk to Susan, ever-

-Do you abide by it yourself?- She teased.

-For years; I have not spoken to her in years other than in family reunions and then again just as much as it is strictly necessary-

-Jeez- she said –And I thought I was the one with family issues-

-Just with my sister- Sean corrected –The rest of my family and I are close, mostly my lil sister Samantha-

-How old is she?- 

-Twenty- He continued –I have two sisters and three brothers- he paused, almost becoming pale –Well I had three brothers- 

-Had?-

-My brother Austin- he lowered his head –he, he died in a car crash a few years back-

Lesly swallowed and put a hand over Sean's 

-I'm sorry- she said quietly. She then explained she herself had only one sister, Lucy, who was a year older than her, she told him about his father, Colonel Louis Lane, her mother, Stephanie, died in childbirth, thus, for her whole life, Lesly had been daddy's girl.

They continued their colloquium until they were distracted by a gunshot; it was a trio of armed men in black coats.

-Everybody be cool, we're taking hostages- The leader announced in a heavy Australian tone.  
New York City  
November 23rd, 2013  
Parker Robbins felt exhausted, he had walked his way back from Alejandra's and it was now a little before midnight; he inserted the key in the hole and opened without making any sound, so his wife was not bothered. The claustrophobia inducing apartment in which they lived was cold, so cold in fact that it could almost freeze Parker's feet, instead of getting himself to bed, he wandered into the closet where he kept his stuff: a box full of cash in case of an emergency, a 28 and ammo in case he needed to return to armed robbery, and finally: the Hood.

It was a spooky thing no doubt, Parker grabbed it gently from the box he had put it in, felt its texture, silk, perhaps? He was not by any means versed in fine materials, so he didn't dwell on the question. It was a dark shade of scarlet and it smelt like bitter sulfur. Calmly, he put it on and something felt…different, this hood was, he soon found, quite comfortable, he walked to the mirror but found no reflection, he had to cover his mouth not to awaken his wife with his Oh shit. So the Hood made him invisible, he thought, that could be useful.

And useful it was, he began to commit theft after theft, it was a whole lot easier to scare people out of their money when they only saw a floating hand with a gun and a scary voice. He began to have the Hood around himself at all times, it was not just the monetary benefits it had brought him, it was more, with the hood, he felt different, he felt, for the first time in his life, free. As if his mother, his wife, his unborn child, were not a worry, as if the world was just him and a huge box of toys he could play with at will, like the universe was but his wardrobe.

He had no idea where that sensation came from, but he sure loved it.  
New York City  
November 27th, 2015

After the small kiss in the parking lot, Sarah and Tim wanted a bit more privacy. They drove off into his apartment building's parking lot. It was the same apartment building Dorian and Diana Day lived; Tim's parents were away on a business trip, as he promptly informed Sarah, getting the message, she came down from the car and gave him a complicit smile.

A few minutes later, Tim shut the door behind them almost violently and before they noticed they were both conquering the other's nakedness. They twisted and turned all over the place: They did it on the couch, on the bed, and atop the dinner table. Tim confirmed the rumors about Sarah Scully: she was every bit as whore-ish as everyone in the football team told him. At first, he thought they were all just salacious stories made up by his teammates to show off, but they were every bit true. 

Once exhausted, they dressed again and joked around for a while, with a little fondling and groping and an erotic photo session in between. Finally, Tim took Sarah Scully back to her place without hope of ever again touching that porcelain skin.

She entered her house and shut the door rudely, cursing herself under breath.

-Fuck, Sarah- she closed her eyes –Sex on the first date, really? - She walked upstairs and threw herself to bed.  
New York City  
November 27th, 2015

A few minutes after the hostage situation had begun, Sean Sullivan made a plan.

Seemingly, the three men had split around the place, in the room where Sean, Lesly Lane and most the other hostages were kept, there was only one of them; he held a large gun in his hands.

The hostages were all sitting in the floor, together in a shapeless hive; their de facto kidnapper walked around silently, coldly looking down at the hostages. Sean looked around and whispered to Lesly, they were both on the back. 

-There's something I haven't told you- he said, looking aside.

-Really? Is this the moment? - She hissed. Sean ignored her comment and told her he was enhanced.

-Really? What can you do? - She arched an eyebrow.

-Let me show you- he smirked, Lesly opened her eyes widely and saying –You gonna go Die Hard on this motherfuckers?- 

Instead of an answer, Sean took off his coat and, with his psychokinesis, he shot it at the hostage-taker, who had his back turned; the coat tied around the man's hands.

-What the hell? - He grunted, and Sean jumped down behind him, punching him soundly in the head.

The man turned around getting rid of the coat, his gun fell to the floor, without time to pick it up; he put himself in a fighting pose. Sean quickly dominated the fight; he received a few punches without even shaking. Maria Gabriela, Sean's mother, looked at the scene with her jaw dropped. Susan appeared confused as well, while Michael Humboldt, his boss, appeared rather amused.

The man fought in a sloppy manner, while Sean was methodic, dancing around avoiding the attacks of his opponent, finally, Sean gave him a solid punch in the windpipe and called the coat to his neck, he then began to choke him, much to the horror and surprise of those present. Once the man had passed out however, he took the coat off his neck and put it back on himself. Lesly stood up and walked to him, pulling him to her, she whispered.

-There is something I hadn't told you either- she whispered, smirking –I can, see shit, it may help you-

-"See"? - He arched his eyebrow.

-Come with me- She slightly closed her eyes and walked him outside, Sean made the gun fly with them and shut the door, he hushed those present, inviting them to keep silent of all they just saw.

-Ok, what now? - Sean asked.

-I told you, I see shit, with my mind, I know where the other two are, so- she smiled –Wanna go Die Hard on this motherfuckers?-

-Let's go Die Hard on this motherfuckers- he reaffirmed, they walked around, until Lesly put a hand on his chest and said –Hold on, one of them is close- She shut her eyes- In that room- she pointed to the door, and Sean flew the gun around the place, entering through the door. 

-Ok, ok- Lesly continued –His back is turned, you're pointing to…his head- Sean waved his fingers, trying to lower the aim.

-Where is it now?-

-The neck…the back…the leg-

When he heard the gun was pointing at the leg, Sean twisted his fingers resembling the way he'd put them on the trigger, and when he closed his hand, the gun shot.

They heard the man screaming and Sean opened the door widely. He shot him again in the arm and the hand, making him drop his weapon.

-Two men down, one to go- he said to himself (and to Lesly).

They then heard a buzz behind them, a fling.

-One to go- a voice repeated behind them, it was their leader.

-What the—before Sean could finish, the man punched him in the face at a superhuman speed, Sean responded by pushing himself and the man inside the room where his colleague laid bleeding –Lesly, get out! - He shouted and then shut the door behind them with his powers.

-How noble- the speedster replied.

-Who the fuck are you?-

-Call me Speed Demon- he smirked and ran all across the room, hitting Sean several times over, Sean began to use his powers as well, when the man ran to him, Sean reacted quickly, putting a hand on his neck and lifting him above his head.

-Call me Sean- he smiled and threw him aside, the Speed Demon stood up and ran to him, throwing both of them outside the window, they began to fall, upwards; and once they hit the ceiling, both on their feet, they traded punches at superhuman speed.

The fight continued for several minutes, Sean was concussed. He was yet to fully recover from the Judas Bullet, and this guy's speed was not helping.

Sean increasingly became sloppy, missing hit after hit, with him just serving as the Speed Demon's piñata. 

Thrown aside, Sean grunted and clenched his fist so hard that his bones (which became diamond) were pressing against his knuckles. The Speed Demon ran to Sean but this time, he received a blow in the side. The punch was so strong that it shred his clothes and skin. He could feel his kidney failing him.

-Nice job- he smirked and spat a spray of blood. After that, he ran out of scene, rooftop after rooftop.

Sean was much too tired and harmed to run after him, he walked downstairs and found Lesly.

-What happened? - Lesly asked.

-He got away- he said, putting a hand in his wounds –But we won- he took a deep sigh.

Lesly subsequently called the cops, who were outside of the building, and told them the whole situation was solved.  
New York City  
November 27th, 2015

After the whole incident, Sean took Lesly to her place and got himself home. When he was about to enter his apartment, he received a call.

-Hey, Sean, um, my roommate and I kinda had a fight, can I stay at your place for a few days? - His sister, Samantha, inquired.

-Yeah, sure- he said carelessly, opening the door and walking inside –Alright, on my way- Samantha replied.

-What did you fight over? - He inquired.

-I'll tell you at your place-

Sean did not reply, as he heard an odd sound coming from the kitchen.

-Sean? - His sister asked.

-Gotta hang up sis, see you- he said and put his phone in his pocket, he then walked slowly to the kitchen door, opening it with his powers.

A man calmly stood there, with a beer in his hand.

-German beer, I like it- the old man remarked.

-What do you want, Stick? - Sean said dryly.

Stick began to walk around –Just heard you were goofing around super freak style and I thought I knew a guy who could give you some practical advice-

-What you mean practical advice?-

-Let's just say you two share a hobby-

-Who is this guy?-

-His name is Matthew Murdock, maybe you've heard of him before-

-I know him from church, actually. I also heard he's responsible for putting Wilson Fisk in jail-

-Which is true- Stick took a sip of the beer –In several ways-

-Cut the shit- 

-He's the Devil of Hell's Kitchen- 

Sean appeared confused –But, Stick, Matt is blind-

-So am I- 

-Fair point-

-Look kid, I just came here to do you that small favor, from one warrior to another; if you ask him for a few tips maybe you won't get shot with an alien gun next time-

-How you know about the…- Stick cut his question short with another question –Does it matter?-

-Not really-

-Well- Stick took another sip –For what I heard you say, I suppose you expect company- the old ninja finished his beer and opened the window, preparing to exit.

-Stick wait- Sean said, clearing his throat –Thanks, really- 

-Welcome- he said awkwardly, Stick was not used to these booboisie formalities. He then left without further ado.

Sean took a beer from the freezer and sat in his living room, waiting for his sister to arrive; today had been an eventful day, he had gotten Lesly's number, fought that Speed Demon or Speed Goblin or whatever the hell he called himself, also, it had been over a year since the last time he saw Stick; the last time they spoke was when he stabbed Sean in the heart with his katana, but that's a story for another day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesly has information for Sean, he follows it. Also, a very special guest appears.

Chapter 3: First Mission  
"For the first time, i've seen a corpse. It's Wednesday" – Gabriel García Marquez, Leaf Storm 

New York City  
July 18th, 2014  
After the death of his brother, Sean Sullivan felt empty and desolated; in all places he sought fulfillment: at first, it was the women and the parties, for a while it was stoicism—for yet another lapse into despair it was Nina, the very cause (or rather, accomplice) of his guilt and desolation. But that's a story for another day.

The waiting room was cold, lonely and dimly illuminated. Sean Sullivan put his feet together and began to tap the floor with anxiety. Finally, a man in solemn clothing came out of the office, making a bow. He then walked up to Sean and said:

-It's your turn- Sean smiled broadly, which was out of tune with the policies of this place.

He walked his way to the office, accompanied by the darkly dressed man, when he entered, a powerful figure, that emitted a strong perfume (the same perfume Nina used, if you ask Sean) raised her hand, signaling to the assistant that he may leave the two of them to talk in private, he complied in obedience.

-You may take a seat- The woman said.

-Thank you, miss—He inquired.

-Alexandra- she said –Just call me Alexandra-

Sean sat down in silence, Alexandra began to speak –You have an outstanding record, Mr. Sullivan, it has been decades since we had such a zealous acolyte- she smiled –you’ve made a name for yourself, even though you’ve never been in a mission, it is said that your training is extreme, you’ve never missed a shot, never, not even once, you can cut through pretty much anything with your katana, you’ve punched through brick walls and trained in the cold, slept on beds of iron and fought after spending 24 hours without eat, drink nor sleep, in cold, against some of our best fighters, you not only won, but had it not being just training, you would have turned them into sushi before they realized - she put her gloved hands together in her lap –May I ask, Mr. Sullivan, what moves you?-

Sean remained silent and then began to speak –Well—the ideals of the Hand are really—he was cut mid-sentence –Cut the shit- Alexandra said without changing the tone of her voice –Those ideals have not been recited in centuries, not even I know them by heart, everyone in here is here for something, something personal, not some idea - She leaned in with a scientific curiosity in her eyes –What motivates you to fight like that?-

Sean swallowed –My brother- he said in a low tone. 

-Do you want to kill him?-

Sean gave a brooding expression with his face –I kinda already did-

-Guilt…- Alexandra gave him a wide, cynical grin –Envy makes men into thieves, hatred makes them into killers, ideals make them fighters…but guilt…guilt turns them into warriors-

-Thank you, Alexandra- 

-And that is exactly what the Hand wants, warriors, loyal warriors-

-I am truly loyal-

-Loyal to whom? - She said in an Inquisitor-ish tone

-Loyal to the hand- 

Alexandra made a sign for him to kneel down and he did

She put a hand on his head –Do you swear loyalty to the Hand?-

-I do-

-Do you swear to be the warrior we want? Do you swear to be our warrior?-

-I do!- 

-Very well then- she rested her sleek fingers on his head, her rings almost lost among his hair –Henceforth, you belong to the Hand and to the Hand alone-  
New York City  
July 19th, 2014

The rays of the moonlight pierced through the drawn blinds, shining unequally on Sean Sullivan's naked physique, covered (also unequally) by the sheets of someone else's bed, in this case, Alexandra's bed. The immortal woman in question laid besides him in a similar taste. Although this was not particularly a protocol test of loyalty, a good warrior must be ready to please his master if so she desires, or that is what Alexandra told Sean the previous night. The truth is that it had been decades since Alexandra had seen a man of a strength and might sufficient as to arouse desire in her. 

Sean complied in the absolute servitude of a warrior. Yet Alexandra liked him precisely because he (and only him in quite some time) was worthy of ruling her, at least for the brief period of their intercourse. It was an strictly professional thing, of course, none of them spoke or thought about it much after the fact; years later, when hearing of Alexandra's rather gruesome death, Sean felt nothing at all, merely murmuring the prayers he always murmured when he heard of someone's death, whether known or stranger. 

And so it went, the night after their brief affair, Sean would have his first official mission for the Hand, and, as it is well known, fornication is the perfect prelude for murder.  
Miami, Florida  
October 1st, 2009

The sun boiled the cells of her skin, or so it felt. The plants echoed her words in a mocking tone; she couldn't find her friends.

A few minutes ago, she could swear, they were all there; all of them: Jimmy, Nicky, Lewis, even that ho whose name she couldn't remember, was it Amber or was it Ashley? It didn't matter. All that mattered right now was she was stuck in a fucking grotesque swamp which probably had five headed alligators and other atrocities. She had seen in it all, then the conclusion came to her mind: This could only be it; the End of the world, human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria. This was it.

She sat down calmly and hid her face between her legs, patiently waiting for the planet to explode or for a five headed alligator to appear, whatever came first.

Instead, she heard a voice, it could be anyone, maybe it was her late great grandfather Colonel Jeffrey Lane, maybe it was King Arthur calling from beyond the grave, or maybe it was just that old guy from Dallas (whatever the hell his name was). In truth, it was neither, it was him, Jimmy.

"Goodness, Jimmy!" she cried "I thought you guys were dead or something like that."

Jimmy chuckled "Maybe something like that."

"Oh my gosh!" She said, flabbergasted "The dead are rising from their graves!" Her grey eyes widening upon further confirmation of her apocalyptic suspicions.

The whole thing reminded her of The Man Who Was Thursday and, come to think of it, it was a Thursday. If this was all like in the book, maybe there was still hope.

-Are you a policeman? - She asked Jimmy, almost in despair.

-Hell no! - Jimmy replied with a bit of disgust. 

She threw herself at him, with a bright smile –Are you an anarchist, then?-

-Yeah, sure- he said, uncertain as to what the proper reply was.

She replied by closing her eyes and bringing their lips together in a passionate kiss, maybe, just maybe, he knew how to stop the planet from exploding.

When they parted, Jimmy seemed surprised –Wow, that was—They were cut off by Nicky yelling them from a few feet afar.

-Hey! - She said –That's my boyfriend, you fucking skank! Oh, and Jimmy, you're dead!- 

Unable to contemplate the possibility of having just made out with a ghost, she ran to the nearest place to hide, so that Nicky wouldn't hit her with her death rays, unfortunately for her, the nearest place to hide was a bunch of mud.

And so, her favorite Pink Floyd t-shirt, along her favorite jeans and her favorite face were all covered with the despicable substance known as mud. She cursed under breath.

That was the first and last time Lesly Lane tried LSD.  
New York City  
July 19th, 2014  
I was in a rooftop, running with a katana, thinking what the hell I was doing.  
This was an infiltration, from the start; this was my first mission for the Hand, but the begging of the end of my actual mission.  
I told the old man everything I knew, everything I learned, about the Hand, their plans, their resurrecting of people.  
And now, to get inside the whole business, we had to fight, let him win, and pretend he killed me.  
Well, back then, I did not know what pretend meant for him.  
It wasn’t so much of let him win, he was the strongest fighter I ever faced, way stronger than me.  
Without my help, he would have defeated me, perhaps faster, this was going to hurt.  
In any case, before I realized, his katana was stuck on me.  
Not in my side, as I thought was the plan.  
But in my chest; the metal of the sword felt rather strange in between my flesh.  
I looked up at him, with my dying breath.  
-Sorry kid, see you later- he said and pulled the sharp blade out of my bleeding body.  
I could smell my own blood.  
I fell to the floor, panting.  
My sight went dark.  
I was dead, for the first time.  
New York City  
November 28th, 2015

The church was almost empty, for it wasn't a Sunday.

It was a Saturday.  
Some old ladies sat at the front, praying the rosary and wearing their mantillas, there was that old chap from the newsstand right at the middle, and you could also see a small family on one extreme and an engaged couple on the other.

Then, there was him.

Matthew Murdock, he liked how Mass went on days other than Sundays; it was less crowded so his ears were not under constant sensorial overcharge. He went on Sundays out of religious obligation, but other days, there he really tuned in.

Mass was about to begin, Father Lantom was putting on his cassock and getting everything ready in the sacristy. Sean's cousin Rodrigo, who was a Jesuit in training and was to receive ordination in a few weeks (but would die of intoxication after eating a bad melon; a few days after his ordination) would serve him.

Sean walked inside and crossed himself, and behind him Austin did the same; Sean made his way to the pews and he sat next to Murdock, he greeted him formally and then heard Mass in utter silence (with the obvious exceptions of the responses), he didn't take communion, for he needed confession, which he would get after his talk with Matt was over.

Once mass concluded, he spoke.

-Matt, can we speak for a while?-

-Sure- the blind man replied –What's the matter?-

Sean looked around, everyone had exited, with the exception of Jonathan, the old chap from the newsstand (and of Austin, but that wasn't a problem).

-Stick and I spoke- he said in the lowest tone possible.

Matt leaned his head to the side, confused, but his expression remained neutral –You know Stick?-

-That's a story for another time- Sean replied –What matters is, he told me, about the Devil- As he said those words, the old chap exited, which further allowed them to talk freely.

-What? - Matt asked, surprised.

-Look I'm, I'm kind of entering the business, ok? And Stick said you could give me some practical advice-

-Look I don't know what Stick meant by practical advice but- he sighed –First things first, get a body armor of some kind, unless you wanna end up a bleeding pulp of a man-

-I doubt that will be necessary-

-Beg your pardon?-

-I regenerate, you see, got shot with this alien bullet on Monday and look at me, I'm fine and dandy-  
-Well- Matt continued, as if it was just a minor detail –Good to know, but in any case, I imagine it is still better if the bullet doesn't get you than if it does-

-Fair point- He acknowledged–Anything else?-

-Yes; if the cops come in, run, as fast and as far as you can, it doesn’t matter what you do, you'll always be an enemy in their eyes-

-I see…- 

-Also- he put on a serious expression, resting his hands strongly in his cane –Never, never kill a man, no matter what he's done. Don't kill him, there has to be a line that separates us from the criminals, you understand?-

-Criminals like Frank Castle?- 

That question hit deeply into Matt's psyche

-Yes, exactly- he said, in a weary voice –Like Frank Castle-

-You're right- Sean reaffirmed –There has to be something us from being mere vigilantes, a moral compass- he glanced at the Crucifix behind the altar –Some higher law-

-That's exactly my point- Matt had to admit, this talk was kind of a relieving –Also, if you have any moral doubts or dilemmas or something, talk to Father Lantom, he's really—helpful with this sort of things- he said with a grin –He also makes some killer lattes- 

-Oh I know about the lattes- Sean replied –But it's good to know he can help with it- 

-Also- Matt continued –Tell Stick that…- Sean cut him off before he could finish

-We're not exactly in contact- Sean said 

-It's better that way- Matt admitted –He just means trouble-

-Where do you know Stick from?- Sean inquired

-That's a story for another time-

Maracaibo, Venezuela  
November 13th, 1939

He stepped down the plane; it was the First time someone in the family traveled on an airplane. His uncle had died in the Titanic when he was around his age, ever since that fateful day his family had always been weary and suspicious of new forms of travel, come to think of it, there were a lot of things the family was weary and suspicious of, the English Crown for example, or the military, or snakes.

In America, he was well-beloved, he and his entire family, by everyone; everyone except the government that is, for it is well-known by the authorities that the Irish in general, the Sullivans (those Sullivans, his Sullivans) in particular, stood for three things that in the eyes of the State, were the very opposite of Truth, Justice and The American Way: Rum, Romanism and Rebellion. Speaking of Rum, his father had celebrated the end of the Prohibition by turning the modest cafe he owned into a pub, and what pub! It had allowed his family to preserve a steady income even in the face of the current crisis; on the side of Romanism, there was the fact his second cousin had just been appointed as the Archbishop of New York, a fact his family took enormous pride in; and finally when it comes to Rebellion, it was a fact of natural history that it was his ancestors who had started a revolt of the Irish against the whole draft arranged by Lincoln and it was also known that the Sullivans (who were part of the would-be aristocracy among the Irish of New York and of the whole USA) had always been in vocal opposition to every single war America fought, whether with Spain or Austria, it made no difference to them.

Coming from this long tradition, Sebastian was a black sheep of sorts, for sure, he was a lover of rum, a convinced Romanist and just as rebellious as it was possible for a compatriot of both Joyce and Thoreau. However, he was all this in a way that was quiet and dispassionate, a scholar and a scientist by vocation, he was always wrapped up in himself, perhaps for that reason he was not to find a wife until he was thirty five, and, it's worth mentioning, a wife that was fifteen years younger.

He had studied chemistry, he was the first layman in the family to go to college, his mum and dad were both so proud of him, their son the scientist, they said. The whole of Irish America mourned his departure together with his mum and dad, but of course, he had to go.

He had been offered the job of the century in this rapidly growing business called the Creole Petroleum Corporation; it was them who sent him here, to a city he'd never heard of in a country he'd never heard of. The name of the city was Maracaibo, and the name of the country was Venezuela.

Traveling on an airplane was nowhere near as terrifying as he imagined, especially since his mother had given him a picture of Saint Patrick to carry with him. The executives were waiting for him on the ground and they spoke energetically, telling him where he would be working and what sort of work he would perform, the pay was handsome and it of course included one of those fancy houses in private villages the gringos made for themselves in the midst of the city. Sebastian was soon invaded with the terror of boredom, after all, most of his fellow gringos were men twice his age, married with children and had their whole families with them at home, he on the other hand was a young bachelor with a strong party spirit; but it didn't matter, he said to himself, as this was the best job he could possibly get as the chemist he was. Another thing was that all of his co-workers were protestant, so they had their little churches without incense nor tabernacles inside their private village, while he on the other hand had to mix with the natives at least for Sunday Mass, but it didn't matter, he said to himself, as this was the best job he could possibly get as the chemist he was. 

That night, in order to help him cure his home sickness, Mr. Brown, the chief executive, offered to take him to a Freudenhaus. This was one particular bordello Mr. Brown was very fond of; it was behind the Caracas bar, which was hosted by a very dear friend of Mr. Brown, Alicia.

-You have to try one of these girls- Mr. Brown said, letting go of his usual manners as a businessman –Their tits taste like ice cream! - He cheerfully assured.

Sebastian was unsure about this whole whorehouse business, but he didn't wish to contradict his superior on his first day, so they both entered the place and asked for the same product: Morenas, the local exquisite. Margarita, the receptionist, believed the whole thing was a paradox inside an enigma: the gringos always wanted those mulattas with pitch black hairs, brown eyes and soft brown skin; while the natives, those whose skin was toasted by the sun, would not settle for anything short of a green eyed pure blooded Spaniard or Italian, they could settle for a Arab on a good day as long as she was one of those Arabs that were white as bread and had golden hair.

Later on, while he held in his arms the naked womanhood of a girl named Cecilia, who was probably not old enough to enter the adjunct bar, he heard a sound, it was a scream of pain, his instinct was to stand up and investigate, but Cecilia, ever so seductive, convinced him not to, as it was commonplace to hear such things around this place; she also told him not to be disturbed if he heard any gunshots.

But minutes later, Sebastian's intuitions proved to be correct, as they heard more and more screams, they looked outside through the window and saw a most horrible view: the lake was on fire. Men, women and children alike ran from the palafitos as a much larger multitude was consumed by the flames, the screams of pain they let out in their final moments was a sound that would haunt Sebastian Sullivan for the rest of his life.   
New York City  
November 28th, 2015  
As Sean Sebastian Sullivan-Suárez (two years, six months and eleven days after the death of his brother) was lying in bed, trying to get through Faulkner's As I Lay Dying, his mind was invaded with a sudden feeling of anxiety, as if something was wrong, as if something wrong was about to happen. He reasoned he had read so much that he could foresee dramatic events in any story, so, believing his paranoia was about the book, he continued reading, voraciously, trying to find the cause of his sudden feeling of anxiety; and so it came to happen that Sean Sebastian Sullivan-Suárez finished As I Lay Dying, by William Faulkner; exactly an hour and fifteen minutes after he had picked it up. Being left, however, with a sense of dissatisfaction upon not seeing his fear fulfilled, he thought that maybe it was memory instead of prophecy, that perhaps he had read something somewhat reminiscent that wound up badly, so he dusted off his copy of Sanctuary and began to read, three hours and the whole book later, he was still unhappy.

It didn't take a re-reading of The Sound and the Fury to realize none of this had anything to do with Faulkner, nor with literature in general, something was wrong in this story, his story, but for the life of him he was unable to tell what, this filled him with an utmost desperation.

He walked outside his room and took a peep at the guest room, where his young sister Samantha slept carelessly in a hammock that hung plainly above the bed. Her hairs were smashed into a shapeless mess against the fabric of the hammock, her juvenile lips breathed slowly and merrily. Sean pressed his fist against the wall and began to sink it slowly as he contemplated the ifs; his sister, his little sister, what would he do if something happened to her, if someone did something to her, what would he do to that someone, he suppressed his thoughts in an act of temperance; then he remembered that time, years ago, when they were still in Venezuela. Sean was fourteen, she was four; they were on a family trip. It was in that National Park, La Llovizna, Samantha fell to the river, whose waters flowed furiously, while their father was off to the side at the moment and Rob, their older brother, had a broken arm; Sean thus reasoned he wouldn't realize soon enough, so he jumped into the water himself. Sean could hear his mother and Susan (who at the time was seventeen) screaming for the both of them, he could see his little sister almost drowning, but then he could feel her hand grapping around his, and he could feel himself pulling her upwards into safety and then swimming with her to the shore. He saved her; he also remembered when he did something similar for Susan a few years earlier in La Guaira when she was fifteen and he was twelve, Sean wondered if he'd do the same for her now and a shadow of a doubt tainted his question. He then cut off the train of thought and prayed to God for the grace to love his enemies.

Walking to the kitchen he made himself a French toast with peanut butter and jelly, but although he then proceeded to make and eat four of these cardinal snacks, the anxiety he had felt since reading As I Lay Dying a few hours later did not leave him, so he jumped to the phone and dialed Lesly Lane.

The golden haired journalist picked up as soon as Sean's personal ringtone, Remy Zero's Save Me, began to play.

-That's funny- she said –I was about to call you-

-You in trouble? - He inquired flabbergasted.

-No, no- she could feel his anxious tone –Chill out pretty prick, I was just calling to give you some data on these guys I've been investigating, get a pen and paper this is juicy stuff- He did so and it indeed was juicy stuff, something involving some gangsters down Little Italy, they were trying out this, exoskeleton? Sean wrote down unsure whether he had spelled it correctly, after that exchange, Sean and Lesly shared a few jokes and spoke about trivial matters, until their chit chat had consumed another hour; time was truly a mousetrap, as Captain Murray Mason always says. Hanging the call, he said his goodbyes and began to get dressed, although it wasn't Sunday yet, he was going to Mass.

His sister, Samantha, saw him in a formal outfit and inquired: 

-Where you going, Sean? - She said half asleep from the edge of her hammock. Sean replied –Imma go meet with someone- he then walked into the bedroom and laid a kiss on her head –Stay safe ok? I'll be back before its dark- such gesture confused the girl, but she took it as just another one of his big brother antics and let him go without further ado. She saw her brother exit the room and then heard him put his key on the hole and open the door, she heard him shut the door. It was only a few seconds later she realized: she didn't have a key, so she was for all intents and purposes locked inside until Sean came home; she was too sleepy to think about it now through, she laid in the hammock and diligently abandoned herself in the arms of Morpheus. Her brother was still left with the feeling of anxiety, thinking that perhaps, it something was wrong in this story, his story, he'd had to wait until the next chapter to find out.

Sean chuckled to himself at how paradoxical the situation was: he was going to church to meet with the devil.  
New York City  
November 28th, 2015  
Susan moved below the sheets in Michael Humboldt's large sofa, they had taken it for an habit to make love here, in Michael's personal studio at his mansion, for whenever they did as much as touch each other on any other room, it began to rain, inside. To avoid having to clean the mess of such climatic caprice, they chose the studio as their love-making room. Susan realized they hadn't exchanged a single word since she came in. It had all just been routine: she walked in, shut the door with violence behind her and made her way to his lips, quickly helping herself out of all her fur and fabric. She didn't even bother to make sure his son William wasn't home, for she knew William was never home on Saturdays, and she also knew the servants were dismissed on Saturdays. So for today and tonight, Susan Sullivan and Michael Humboldt had the place for themselves. They quickly slided into the studio and began to consume each other at the rhythm of Selling England by the Pound and heated by the fireplace. All this they had done without even bothering with a hello, they had been making love for some hours when Susan realized this, as Michael Humboldt went to pick up a few drinks at the bar in the middle of the mansion, as he came back in his unadorned manliness with a pair Cuba Libres in his hands, Susan spoke the first word of their encounter –Last night was nice, don't you think? - She quickly corrected herself –Before the whole hostage situation that is-

Michael Humboldt chuckled and carelessly leaned to hand Susan her drink and then took a seat beside her –Yeah, that arepa thing is real good- He took a sip of his Cuba Libre – Also, I think I scored a few points with your mom- 

-Scored some points? - Susan arched her eyebrow and chuckled wickedly –Michael how old is you? - 

Michael Humboldt ignored his lover's mischievous comment and continued his monologue –Also, you've got to admit your brother acted like a total hero in there- Susan expressed her discontent at his mention, but Michael continued regardless –Oh c'mon Susan, he saved the fucking restaurant-

-He was probably just showing off- She chewed her lip –To get that blonde bitch to bed-

-You mean his date? I know her-

-What? - Susan said, visibly angry.

-It's not what you think, Susie- he chuckled –She's a journalist, she interviewed me a few times- He paused to remember –She's a little salty- 

-From what I could gather, she's also a lowlife skank- Susan took a sip of her drink.

-Why you always so hard around him? - He inquired, knowing he was stepping into forbidden territory.

-I've told you a zillion times, Michael- She covered herself with the sheets –We don't talk about Sean, ever-

-Alright- he sighed and put his drink on the nearby table, then he leaned in and hovered atop her –What do you want to talk about?- He smirked maliciously and kissed her, he then rolled to the side and she crawled on to him, laying her head on his naked chest –I don't know, the weather- she said jokingly as he played with her hairs –Surely you're joking, Ms. Sullivan!- He smirked and they kissed again.

And so they went on, for hours and hours of love and liquor, until they dined naked at the largest table and they gave themselves to each other in the living room, not caring one bit about the rain. This time around, however, it didn't rain inside the apartment but outside of it. Like all the other rains they had seen.

After that, Michael Humboldt got dressed and Susan got half-dressed with one of his shirts, she was staying in for the night. They continued to speak throughout the evening. Michael complained about his son William (whom he didn't love, son of a deceased woman that he didn't love either) for his lack of dedication and poor grades. Truth was William was rather soft, given to all sorts of satisfactions, he was a party man, not a businessman, and this angered his father to the utmost. He was the very opposite of him, for in spite of his sarcastic grin Michael Humboldt lived by a near-monastic discipline in his life, with the exception of his affair with Susan, of course, who was in fact the first woman with whom he indulged so liberally. They fell asleep early in the morning a little over an hour after Sean Sullivan had returned home, bleeding and badly beaten.  
New York City  
November 28th, 2015  
A few hours before Captain Murray Mason received a call from Detective Alphonsus Arkham about the murder of John Patrick Goldberg near the Paper Factory Hotel, his daughter, Diana Day, received a visit from the twice Pulitzer nominee journalist and author of three best-selling books (on Foreign Policy and later on Black Widow) Lesly Virginia Lane. Lesly Virginia Lane knocked at the door of the apartment Diana Day shared with her husband Dorian Day, who was a stockbroker. The visit caught them around dinner time, so Diana Day opened the door with a bib still wrapped around her neck.

-Good afternoon- Lesly Lane said carelessly, then she became aware of what Diana had around the neck and awkwardly inquired –Am I, interrupting anything?-

Diana quickly realized and took the bib off, a bit ashamed –Oh no, no, please come in-

In the kitchen table, Dorian Day, the stockbroker, stood with his plate and his wife's plate, with him holding his wife's sandwich as if he had been feeding her, he quickly dropped it upon realizing Lesly Lane had entered, and cleaning himself up a bit, he said:

-Oh, hey, uhm, what do we owe this pleasure- his wife interrupted him with a –Sit down, please- which Lesly Lane quickly took a seat in the couch.

-So, I take it you're associates of my business partner Sean Sebastian Sullivan- She said, taking out her notepad.

Dorian Day and his wife Diana looked at each other in confusion, both of them thinking the same thing.

-What do you mean by business partner? Ms.—Dorian inquired, leaving open the question as to her name.

-Lane- Lesly replied –Lesly Lane, I'm an investigate, guerilla and gonzo journalist, I'm also the author of a two-volume work criticizing the Ellis administration- She said, unsure as to why she had just spoken like it was a presentation card.

-Uhm…ok? - Dorian replied, even more confused –About the business partner thing…-

-Oh yeah, well it's a fairly informal arrangement for sure, and it was made entirely by word of mouth, this morning, on a diner- she paused and tugged her skirt slightly –That's not a matter of concern now, I just wish to make you a few questions about Mr. Sean Sullivan-

-Well, first, it's Doctor Sullivan- Diana remarked –He's got a doctorate in Finances- Lesly Lane wrote it down.

-Honey, we sorta just met this lady- Dorian said while turning to his wife.

-She left with Sean after the game didn't she?-

-Well, yes but--

-We had a date, it didn't end up romantically but don't worry we are in good confidence, I'm sure he can testify to that-

Dorian remembered Sean had spoken to him this morning about it, the date, the saving the restaurant, and how very cool this Lane was, by all he had told him, it did seem like they were in good confidence.

-Yeah, right- Dorian replied –So, what do you wish to know about him?-

-Well, you know, just if he is, reliable, he keeps his promises, is he punctual? This is all important for the arrangement we came into this morning-

-And that arrangement is about…?-

-That's classified- she took out a cigarette –You mind if I smoke?-

-By all means—Dorian was again interrupted by his wife, Diana, who spoke:

-Actually yes Miss Lane I mind, I'm a nurse you see, smoking is not a habit that I appreciate much-

-Alright- she put the cigarette back in the pack without resentment and continued –So, is he reliable? Punctual?-

-Yes, miss, one hundred per cent- Dorian said –And for the records, we're not associates, we're homies- Lesly wrote down "h-o-m-i-e-s". 

-Does he have a tendency to negotiate when in situations of risk?-

-Well, I wouldn't know how to answer that one, I mean he sure knows when to fight and when to bargain-

Lesly Lane wrote down the words bargain and fight, drawing a small clock around them. 

-Alright, does he have any violent proclivities?-

-Just when he needs to- Dorian nodded, as if saying that applied to him as well.  
-Is he easily fooled?-

-No- Diana quickly replied.

-Can he be easily seduced? - The question sent the room into an uncomfortable silence; Diana and Dorian again looked at each other trying to conjure an answer, finally Dorian replied: 

-That's classified- 

-Is he quick to answer his phone calls?-

-Yes; before we continue are you sure your date didn't end up "romantically"? - Dorian inquired

-I know these all can sound like different stuff when taken out of context but please do bear in mind that the content of these questions is entirely professional.

-Alright…? - Dorian said, quite unsure.

Then, the interview went on and Lesly Lane left a full forty five minutes after she had knocked at the door interrupting Dorian and Diana Day's romantic dinner.

She left with a bad Canadian joke and a smirk; after that Diana shut the door behind her and looked at her husband:

-What the hell was that?

-I'm not really sure- He arched his eyebrows.  
New York City  
May 17th, 2013

Sean Sullivan woke up in a stretcher, the sterilized scent invading his nose, he also saw a light that at first he thought blinding, until he finally came to sense that it was merely a light bulb. He looked around, slightly confused and highly concussed, he saw some serum besides him that was being put in his bloodstream; he also saw a monitor with his heartbeats there reflected, a nurse came into the room.

-Oh, you're awake- she was a woman of small stature, wavy hair down to her shoulders and thin lips. 

-Where am I?-

-You're at St. Philomena's hospital, you had a car accident- she informed him and he remembered.

Sean nodded –Oh, yeah- he leaned back on the pillow –How's Nina?-

The nurse told him that she was ok but still unconscious, she then made a pause and said, in a low tone:

-But, Mr. Sullivan- She walked in closer, putting a hand on the edge of his bed –Your brother…-

-What happened?- Sean asked, his face transfigured by desperation.

-He's in a very frail conditions, the doctors have revived him several times but he keeps flat lining, his heart is working now but he retains substantial damage- he paused, her small face becoming slightly pale –We don't know if he'll make it-

Sean stares at her for a long time, he then proceeds to crash his head back to the pillow and shut his eyes violently, murmuring.

-Oh, fuck…- he makes a pauses and then repeats, much louder –Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK- he moves his arms around violently, but he's still unable to do much more and he has nothing to throw around.

-I suggest that you relax- the nurse said in a professional tone walking to check his serum.

-I don't WANT to FUCKING relax- he said, almost yelling at her.

The nurse patiently suffered his words and then sighed, closing in and saying, in a much friendlier tone.

-Ok, let's try this again, I'm Sharon, what's your name?-

-Sean- he said

-Nice to meet you Sean, now listen, I know this is stressful but for your own sake you need to relax ok? You do nothing by being this altered, except harming yourself- she laid a hand gently on his shoulder –Your brother is in the best hands, ok?-

Sean stared at her with a delusional but desperate trust, willing her words into truth –Ok-  
New York City  
May 17th, 2013

Two hours after Sean Sullivan woke up, the doctors could not revive his brother anymore, pronouncing him dead at four thirty am; they set out to give him the bad news.

Sean was now sitting in the waiting room; impatiently tapping his feet in the floor, next to him sits Nina, who has not exchanged a single word with him since they were in the car. Doctor Goodman came out of the room and by the expression in his face they could tell what the news was.

-Sullivan, Austin- he said, Nina stood up and Sean beside her, and she looked at him with her eyes widely open, she then said in a broken tone:

-I'm his wife-

-Well I'm sorry Mrs. Sullivan but, your husband died two minutes ago- He said in a crude but somewhat sympathetic voice, it was clearly routine for him to give this kind of announcements.

Nina's mouth opened for a second but she didn't let out a single word, she shut it again and tears began to linger in her eyes, she crushed onto Sean and hugged him tightly, a gesture that he returned, with his eyes tearful as well, this embrace was every bit different from all their adulterous ones. Sean buried his face in Nina's head, he felt her sobbing against his shoulder and he began to cry as well. At age twenty seven (his birthday had been two weeks ago) his brother's life had ended, not with a bang but a whimper.  
New York City  
November 28th, 2015  
Captain Murray Mason sat uncomfortably in his chair; he had an odd ache in his kidneys that had been bothering ever since the dinner he had with his daughter and son-in-law the previous night. He moved in it for the umpteenth time when he received a call, it was from Detective Alphonsus Arkham, the youngest detective working in the NYPD; who had stayed at the station digging all the information he could gather on the murder of John Patrick Goldberg, he had found a similar case in Harlem, Carlos Acosta, 47 years old, was found with two bullet holes in his back and one in his neck, each one of them perfectly encircled by small third degree burns, he had telephoned one of the cops in charge of that case, Detective Brigid O'Reilly, it had been dead end after dead end, but Acosta seemed to have connections—connections by debt, that is—to a band hitherto unheard of, the leader of this band, who was unidentified as of yet, is known on the streets as the Hood, although some criminals refer to him as the Devil.

-Devil?!- Captain Murray Mason shouted, jumping from his seat –Like that freak down Hell's Kitchen? - 

-No connection there sir- Detective Arkham assured him –Apparently they call him the Devil on account of his cruelty, we don't have much data on the gang but call themselves the Shrouds and seem to have different activities all around the place, Harlem, Queens, the Bronx, Little Italy, Chinatown, Upstate; these motherfuckers are everywhere! - 

-And where did Mr. Goldberg fit in the grand scheme of things? - Captain Murray Mason inquired, walking to the freezer and seizing a few biscuits.

-Well…- Detective Arkham began to articulate while Captain Murray Mason chewed on his biscuits –The motive we are handling at the time is debt, it appears like Goldberg was a big time gambler, he was a frequent drunk driver and two years ago he killed somebody on a car crash, he served some time but got out of parole…and he also lost thousands of dollars in gambling just this year, so considering that and the guy from Harlem, debt seems like a plausible motive-

Captain Murray Mason's stomag (and kidneys) revolted upon hearing all this, but he had to do justice even for those he found despicable, taking back his seat, he swallowed a piece of biscuit and said –Alright Detective, I want you to investigate further into this gang and Goldberg's gambling habits, we need to find out where and when he put his money, and whom he borrowed it from, once you get that, call me and we shall pay the moneylender a visit, assuming it's a sole man and not a bloody mob, in which case we'll pay them an armed visit. Did I make myself clear?-

-Yes, sir- replied Detective Arkham on the other line.

-Alright, anything else I need to know?-

-No sir- replied the young Detective, Captain Murray Mason could almost hear the huge square glasses slipping off in his languid face.

-Alright, good night Detective-

-Goodnight Captain-

Captain Murray Mason hanged and began to think, this case reminded him of another case involving a moneylender, some fifty-ish fella down Jackson Heights, he had been ambushed in his home and beaten to death, the perpetrator took all the money the moneylender had in his house, a few weeks later, the murderer turned himself in: it was his own brother. That brother would go on to die in prison, prostate cancer.

Now, Captain Murray Mason reasoned, John Patrick Goldberg was for certain a piece of scum worth his salt; but in any case his murder had to be solved and the perpetrators brought to justice, especially if this could bring them to uncover an entire mob. He speculated about this man they called The Hood, or the Devil, from time to time; if he had earned his second nickname out of his cruelty (a cruelty that is considered notable in the New York City underworld) it must truly be some cruelty, also, he had to dig deeper to that whole Acosta situation. The burns were still imprinted on his brain: How on earth did he put those things in his victims? Was it even him or his goons? Or maybe a particular goon of his; all these options he contemplated from one bite of his biscuits to another. And this question haunted him until he went to sleep three and a half hours later.  
New York City  
November 28th, 2015  
November 29th, 2015  
He checked his wristwatch, the same wristwatch he had on two years, six months and twelve thirteen days ago; it was midnight.

For some reason he couldn't grasp, it had been raining almost all night, but now the rain seemed to stop. He was looking directly at the direction Lesly Lane had given him, here in Little Italy; Sean Sullivan made the sign of the cross and put on a mask over the lower half of his face and jumped right into action. He picked the lock and entered, had this not been the place of a crime he was going to stop, this would definitely be a felony, the door opened without making any sound; fortunately.

He walked slowly, surveying the place, facing him was a long, silent and empty hallway, he walked around in carefully, in the meantime, his mind was rearranging things around him so that they could serve him better; finally he heard a voice and hid behind a wall, guards, it would seem. He peeped and saw two large fellas with a pair of nine-millimeters with silencers; he used his mind to make them both raise the weapons at each other. 

-What the fuck are you doing?-Said one upon seeing his partner point the gun at him.

-What the fuck are you doing? - He replied.

Instead of shooting, Sean made them crash the guns against their faces knocking them out at least for a while, that way no major sound was made, he proceeded to dismantle the guns using his powers. In a room, some men sat at a table negotiating. The chief of the selling side was Mr. Johnny Della Rocca, while the buyers were led by a man named Antonio Ferrara, who in turn was representing his higher bosses at the Maggia. Sean turned the table upside down and they all stood up withdrawing their weapons.

-What the hell was that? - Said Della Rocca.

Sean proceeded to enter and take on them one by one, he didn't even need to deviate or stop the bullets as they all missed him over and over, his wrestle with them was easy and uneventful, that, until one of them tried on the exoskeleton. It was not really a heavy piece of machinery, rather it consisted of simple modules connected by a few cables; it was the latest shit in the market, maybe not as advanced as the Iron Man suit but certainly the best to be produced en masse. The someone in question who tried it on was Mr. Johnny Della Rocca himself, who after making a few basic moves to make sure it was working correctly, proceeded to approach Sean directly and trying to get him to the floor, unable to do this he punched him in the stomag. Della Rocca found his strength was multiplied a hundredfold, so a punch of several tons of force pressed itself against Sean Sullivan's stomag, while he was taken by surprise, he just took a few steps back and decided to fight; adopting a boxing position, he threw himself at Della Rocca, whose resistance and speed were also heightened by the suit. While Sean threw him a punch at least as strong as the one he had received, Della Rocca was able to dodge it with ease and then punch Sean soundly in the jaw. Sean was sent flying a few feet away and put himself on two feet again, he raised his fists like nothing had happened and attempted to punch him again, this time he succeeded, landing two solid punches, but Della Rocca didn't bat an eye, instead, he kicked Sean in the stomag and then punched him in the back with both his fist intermingled.

Sean fell to the floor and spat blood, blood which began to corrode the floor and finally disappeared into a weird mist that smelled like bitter almonds. Della Rocca picked him up rudely, almost crushing him.

-We don't need more superfucks around the place- He crashed his head (covered by a helmet) into Sean's. Gravely concussing him, Sean could hardly react at this point, but Della Rocca kept punching him relentlessly and kicking him whenever he could, Sean bled, and every time he did so the blood became a mist and ceased to be. Della Rocca kicked him into a wall and then began to stump on him, Sean could feel his bones crushing and putting themselves in place, over and over; his muscles were so beaten that he could feel his flesh grow firm, almost dry. Finally, Sean Sullivan stopped Della Rocca's boot with his mind and threw him aside at a huge speed. Della Rocca's armor was damaged by the hit and Sean, barely being able to stand, dismantled it and cut some of the cables with his mind. Finally leaving them useless; while Sean was barely able to walk and his fists were only as strong as those of a mere mortal, he walked up to Della Rocca slowly and punched him the face several times. Della Rocca's face made an odd sound every time he received a punch, at one point Sean could swear he heard his bones crack. 

-Motherfucker!- he said and used his powers to lift Della Rocca, making him levitate, he then threw him to the wall strongly and Della Rocca fell unconscious, with his head bleeding a bit. Sean Sullivan approached him and ripped the exoskeleton off him, he then slapped him rudely with his gloved hands trying to wake him up, as that did not came to fruition, he called unto him a piece of debris, sharpened it and proceeded to stab Della Rocca on the leg with it, being so precise so as to not leave him with major permanent damage.

Della Rocca awoke screaming of pain, and Sean grabbed his head to hold it and then pushed the debris deeper, to give him a small reminder not to fuck around. Then, he spoke:

-Who sold you this crap?-

Della Rocca answered at once:

-The Hood!-

-Who the hell is 'The Hood'? - 

-No one knows! That's all he goes by, he operates here, he operates in Queens, he operates in the Bronx, motherfucker is everywhere!-

Sean leaned in, his tone becoming more intimidating, Della Rocca was faced with the shades Sean sported over his eyes and the small cotton face mask he covered his mouth and nose with.

-Where can I find this guy? - 

-I don't know…- Della Rocca said, almost sobbing.

Sean grabbed him by the neck lifted him over his head, repeating his question:

-Where can I find this guy? - 

-I swear to you, I don't know! I don't know! You have my word I don't- He sweated coldly. Sean knew he was telling the truth, so he just tossed him aside and said:

-Your word ain't worth shit, but I'll take it- He glanced over at the exoskeleton and thought of taking it, but he quickly found his powers were too overused for the lift, even then, Sean insisted, so he took the suitcase where it was kept and tucked it inside. He exited the installment with his legs only partially responding.

Sometime later, he was home, the exoskeleton was on his left hand; he inserted the key in the keyhole exactly an hour and ten minutes before his sister Susan fell asleep in the arms of Michael Humboldt. Entering the place he dropped the suitcase in the table and threw himself in the couch, taking off the bloodied mask and the gloves. His sister Samantha was so surprised upon seeing him in this state that she dropped the glass of water she had in her hands.

-My gosh, Sean…- She walked onto him, almost sobbing.

-You should see the other guy- he commented with an ironic and humorless grin.  
New York City  
November 27th, 2015

Sarah Scully was on the phone with her friend Gwen, gossiping about the date she just came back from, it was 11:45 p.m. 

-And I don't know, I had the feel that I've seen this guy before- She arched her eyebrow.

-You told Tim about it?-

-No, no I didn't-

-Why not?-

-I didn't find it worth telling-

-Alright…and after the game?-

-Oh we went for dinner and some ice cream down the road, and then…-

-….Then you jumped on bed with him- 

-Gwen!- she shouted.

-Tell me it isn't true-

-….It is, but it ain't a big deal, right? - She asked, trying to reassure herself.

-It kinda is- Gwen said –I mean all the guys in the football team-

-Cut it- Sarah smiled non-humorously.

-Alright- Gwen granted –But in any case, are you going out with him again?-

-I don't think so, not my type-

-Not your type?!- Gwen replied, almost offended –Sarah, he's Tim-Fucking-Adler, he's Captain of the football team.

-Yeah, my type is more of a—She was cut off by her friend.

-More of a Peter Parker?-

-Ow, fuck off!-

-Come on, you're the one who said he's kinda hot-

-And he is!-

-So?-

-Well, yes- Sarah smiled –My type is more of a Peter Parker-

-I knew it!- Her best friend giggled.

Then, Gwen heard a loud sound downstairs at the other end of the line, it was a man and a woman arguing:

-That's the seventh guy I see this month, Stephanie, the seventh! Your sister's daughter is a little whore-

-SHUT THE FUCK UP BRANDON! I know she's a pain in the ass, but I promised Sally that I'd—  
-Oh look at you, ever so noble- The man replied in a mocking tone.

-SHUT THE FUCK UP BRANDON! - And then a punch was heard.

-What's that? - Said Gwen, not fully understanding the words.

-It's nothing- Sarah replied –It's nothing, gotta go- And she hung up.


End file.
